My Head Is Spinning Round

My Head Is Spinning Round

My head is spinning round again,

thoughts refuse to land.

Questions pile on questions,

none asking to be answered yet.

Sleep circles but won’t sit still,

rest feels like a tease.

The mind replays unfinished scenes,

on endless repeat.

I try to ground myself in now,

breathing in the room.

But memory and worry blend,

and blur the afternoon.

People say slow your thinking down,

as if it’s just a switch.

The brain has habits hard to break,

once caught in the pitch.

I pace the floor and talk it out,

hoping sound will help.

Sometimes naming the chaos,

keeps me from myself.

Eventually the spin will fade,

it always finds an end.

No storm stays full forever,

even inside the head.

I remind myself I’ve been here before,

and made it through again.

This is not the end of me,

just noise, not truth.

My head is spinning round tonight,

but I stay seated still.

Waiting for the world to slow,

because it always will.