I wake to the sound of coins, coins that will not last a day. My stomach growls louder than the tricycle outside. Pretending to be full is the key, so my younger sibling can eat. Our walls wear their cracks— patched with cardboard and hope. The roof leaks its secrets, each raindrop slipping through, gathering in a thin basin. We laugh as if it were a game, but deep inside, I know it is not. Dreams sit quietly within me, like caged birds waiting for release. Still, I carry them, their wings folded but unbroken. I hope one day I can fly, hope that hunger will loosen its grip— so we may live, not merely survive.