I’ve been trying to put into words how I feel right now, but it’s tough. Last night, I was a mess of conflicting feelings, my mind torturing me, my logical brain trying to help but making mistakes. So I decided to try and put it down in a way that means something to me, but isn’t just a list of moans. Here it is;
“Holding Pattern”
Me, today, now, here.
The world turns, I feel it not,
A hollow drum beneath my chest;
Each hour lands and passes through,
And leaves me emptier than the rest.
They speak of light beyond the ridge,
But I can barely lift my head;
The will to move, to join, to try
It sits somewhere behind the dread.
If someone called, I think I’d hear
If someone reached out, I might not break.
I’m here, still… just out of sight,
And far more fragile than care to think.
On the surface, i think it reads like a quiet observation: the world turning, time passing, the speaker standing slightly apart. That image—the world as a “steady wheel”—is deliberate. It suggests something relentless, something that neither pauses nor softens in response to individual struggle. Life continues, indifferent to whether you can keep pace with it. There is a particular kind of loneliness in that: not just being alone, but being left behind everyoneelse, alone, scared and tired.
And perhaps that’s the real purpose of this.
Not to declare anything outright. Not to say “I am struggling” in explicit terms. But to leave a trace, to shout out for help quietly. A signal, however faint, that something is not right. That beneath the surface—beneath it all, the routine, the appearance of normality—there is someone standing very still, crying inside, while everyone else moves on.
Writing it was not about resolution. It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t lift the weight.
But it did make it visible.
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