Static In My Head

a mind that just won’t sit down.

Static in My Head

My mind won’t take its shoes off,
won’t settle into the quiet like it’s promised.
It paces the rooms of my skull,
touching everything,
opening drawers it already knows are empty.

I try to focus on the now—
the hum of the fridge,
the clock pretending not to watch me—
but every thought has a thought inside it,
and they keep knocking over each other
to be heard.

I replay conversations like unfinished songs,
rewind moments that didn’t ask to be saved.
What I said.
What I meant.
What I should’ve let go of sooner.

Sleep hovers nearby,
arms crossed, waiting for my brain
to stop writing letters it will never send.
I close my eyes
and somehow see more.

There’s a storm that never makes it to rain—
just endless thunder,
just the tension of something almost breaking.
I tell myself: breathe.
My mind replies: one more thing.

And maybe that’s the truth of it—
that some nights,
peace isn’t silence,
it’s learning how to sit beside the noise
without letting it own you.