Overwhelmed claims more than feelings,
It’s the mountain you refuse to climb.
Stacks upon stacks of paper prescribing duties,
Piled on the desk begging for time.
Books grabbed in a moment of inspiration
Unread at the foot of your bed,
Judging failures of attention.
The cards and calls
Meant to be addressed,
Unwritten and unmade like laundry
Unfolded and left wrinkled in a dryer.
Activities and events you knew you
Should join,
But failed to find your shoes,
Not from lack of interest or disrespect
But out of fatigue and bitter frustration.
This is the state of a tired mind,
Not broken, but bruised
by exigencies of time and story.
The uncontrollable shape of being:
Grateful for sleep
Happy to stroll down
Neighborhood streets,
Smiling at nothing special,
Blinded by the chill of winter wind,
Ignoring my brain.
Aimless for now.
Resonant with stubborn emotions,
Insistent to reclaim rhythm, and
Heal from dissonance.
This is a day for rest
Until my body decides
It’s ready for yes,
Only then to begin again
At a pace of my choosing.
THH
02/18/26
Thoughts Have Hands 