Irritated, buy why

restless irritated feeling when you know something’s off but can’t name it

There’s a buzzing under my skin,
a low, electric kind of ache—
like something’s wrong,
but too small to catch,
too quick to take its shape.

My thoughts pace circles in my head,
bumping into walls they can’t see.
I’m fine—
or at least I should be—
but something keeps tugging at me.

I’m irritated at the quiet,
at the noise,
at the air in the room.
At the way time keeps moving,
but somehow feels stuck
like a clock slightly out of tune.

It’s not one thing,
not even two—
just a shadow I can’t give a name.
A pressure sitting on my chest,
whispering,
“Nothing’s wrong…
but nothing’s the same.”

So I breathe
and let the feeling simmer,
waiting for it to soften or pass.
Because sometimes the mind gets cloudy
for reasons it won’t tell
and feelings flare up fast—

And maybe tomorrow
I’ll wake lighter,
with the air pulled clean again.
But tonight,
I’m just irritated,
and I don’t know why—
and that’s its own kind of sin.