Poem: Chaos

Thrown into the chaos, I did not fall—
I scattered.

Edges of me caught on sharp hours,
on the teeth of noise,
on the wild machinery of everything happening at once.

Time lost its spine.
Moments dripped sideways,
pooling at my feet like broken glass reflections
of a sky that couldn’t decide what it was.

There were voices—
not speaking, but colliding,
like storms arguing in a language made of thunder.
I tried to answer,
but my words dissolved
before they reached my mouth.

So I became quieter.

Not silence—
never that—
but the kind of stillness
that survives explosions.

I learned the rhythm of disorder:
how chaos doesn’t spin randomly,
but pulses—
breathes—
waits for you to resist
so it can pull harder.

I stopped resisting.

And something strange happened—
in the fracture,
in the unbearable noise—
a pattern flickered,
brief as a heartbeat in the dark.

Not control.
Not peace.

But a place to stand
without needing the ground to stay still.

Thrown into the chaos, I did not fall—
I scattered,
yes—

but in scattering,
I became
impossible
to break.