I Wrote This Instead of Screaming

The news keeps loading incessantly,
even when I try to disconnect.
Deadlines, protests, power plays—
I hold them like shifting sand
and wonder why my hands feel heavy.

They say democracy is delicate,
and so am I.
My empathy’s overdrawn again,
each headline a debt I can’t repay.
I used to rage fiercely.
Now I refresh quietly.
Now I fold laundry
with the volume muted
and call that balance.

Friends post links like lifelines,
I click, I sink politely.
There’s no room left for outrage—
it sprawls across the kitchen table
where my dinner should be.
I mute the world,
yet it hums beneath the door.

They shut down the government,
and I shut down with it.
Both need recovery,
but neither knows how.
I’m exhausted from staying open
in a country that never stops,
tired of caring
like it’s a full-time job
with no hazard pay.

So I power down,
pretend silence is rest,
pretend rest is healing,
pretend healing is enough.
When the lights come back on,
I’ll log in again—
ready to start
the cycle of collapse anew.