Question

Static at 2 A.M.


My mind doesn’t knock.
It rearranges the furniture
at 2 a.m.,
asks me to notice every creak.
I lie still like that might help,
like silence is a language
my thoughts forgot.
They line up with receipts,
proof of moments I replayed too many times
to pretend they were accidents.
I’m fluent in overthinking
it’s the only subject I never skipped.
I can turn one sentence
into a courtroom drama,
cross-examine my tone,
convict myself without witnesses.
People call me “strong”
because I don’t spill.
They don’t see the cup shaking in my hands,
how much effort it takes
to keep the surface calm.
Confidence comes in phases.
Some days it fits like skin.
Some days it’s a costume
I forget I’m wearing
until it starts to pinch.
I laugh on cue.
I answer “fine” with convincing timing.
I’ve learned where to pause,
how long eye contact should last,
how not to sound like a question
when I’m one.
The past isn’t loud.
It doesn’t need to be.
It just clears its throat
at the wrong moments,
reminds me what I already survived
and what might try again.
But here’s the part I don’t downplay
I stay.
Even when my thoughts argue in circles,
even when doubt files appeals.
I choose presence over perfection.
Breath over escape.
I don’t win every round,
but I don’t forfeit myself either.
I am not the static.
I am the one listening,
deciding what deserves a response
and what can fade
without taking my name with it.

Answer 1

GREAT !!