Ten Minutes After 11
Ten minutes ago you were halfway out the door with a backpack and a fuck-this-heart
ready to vanish just to prove you could, Shoes untied
keys in hand
replaying every stupid failure till you swore you were done for good
Now you’re on the kitchen floor with your back to the cupboard
breathing slow, counting tiles instead of cliffs
Nothing fixed, nothing holy
just the fridge humming quietly while your pulse throws tiny fits.
Ten minutes ago you had a goodbye text typed out
thumb hanging over send like a trigger you knew too well
Every line sounded final and childish and honest as hell
screaming out the secrets you promised not to tell
Screen went black, showed your face, eyes wrecked
jaw tight, and something in you muttered “not like this
not now, ” You locked the phone
dropped it on the counter
grabbed a glass of water and wiped the sweat from your brow.
Ten minutes after 11
nothing looks different but you’re still here
that’s the whole wild thing, No angel, no message
just lungs that refused to clock out while your thoughts kept pulling the string
La la la, la la la, dum dum dum
your busted little heart still beating under your skin
Ten minutes after 11, no miracle, no credits
just a quiet fuck you to the urge to give in.
Ten minutes ago the sink full of dishes felt like proof you’d never be anything but tired and late and wrong
Now you’re rolling your sleeves up, running hot water
humming some dumb hook just to help the time move along
You’re not hopeful, not cured, not fixed
just a little less close to the edge than you were before
And sometimes that tiny shift
that single step back from the drop
is the whole damn war.
No choir, no spotlight, just you in socks on cold tile
humming nonsense to drown out the pull, La la la
la lalala, dum dum dum
ugly and off key and somehow full
If anybody asks where the real work lives
it’s in these stupid quiet minutes when you stay
When you whisper “not tonight, not like this
” and drag yourself one breath further away.
Ten minutes after 11, nothing changed on paper
but you didn’t walk, you didn’t hit send
you didn’t break, That’s the kind of tiny
filthy miracle they never write on greeting cards
the kind only you can make, La la la, la la la
dum dum dum
heart still drumming in a body that refused to be done
Ten minutes after 11, still here, still pissed
still breathing – that’s the win, you stubborn one.