I hear the cries of my child at 3 am.

I barely slept.

I continue to hear her cry as my eyes begin drooping again,

But the urge to nurture my only blossom keeps growing each time.

“You have to take care of her! GO!”

I wake up again and nodded her to go to sleep.

“Please… go to sleep, my--”

I keep hearing glass bottles clinking from the man who gave life to this beautiful blossom.

Glrk glrk glrk.

The reeking alcohol that makes me want to throw up in my room.

The atrocious fumes from the gray smokes, lit from a single flame.

His ugly laughter filled with a nonchalant spirit with his ugly friends.

This roaring tension in my heart has swelled within time, and it can only get bigger.

“Why can’t you get a better husband than this? He’s absolutely useless!”

“That damned husband of yours does not do anything. He yells at you

with hatred. He doesn’t do anything nice for you. You deserve better!”

“He doesn’t see you as an equal. He only sees you as a lowly woman.”

“He disrespects you.”

“He doesn’t love you.”

I keep hearing these thoughts repeating in my head over and over and over in a cycle.

What if he doesn’t love me?

What about all the clothes I washed for him?

What about all of the threay and bai I made for him?

What about the recurring thoughts of him inside my head?

I gave him my countless time, hours, and soul,

And I can’t even get an ounce of his attention.

Why do I…

I slowly sleep as she sleeps along with me,

Hoping that everything will be okay.