Knuckle Crack Anthem

In the middle of a room too loud,

I fold fingers slow,

pull the joints back like they owe me,

a ritual, useless and stubborn.

Snap, click, a dull explosion

that fills the space between words.

It’s relief? Maybe.

A small rebellion,

a moment I claim in chaos.

The sound ricochets inside my skull—

sharp, like dry twigs breaking.

I don’t know why it helps,

but I do it anyway,

like humming a tune nobody hears.

A useless talent,

yet it roots me to the moment

when everything else slips,

like cracking the ice

and hoping the water stays still.