Static is evolution

No one tells you that
becoming is loud.

They only show you
the flower that is blooming,

never the roots that are
splitting from earth.

They call it change,
but they don't tell you
it feels like static.

Like two versions of yourself
fighting for the same heartbeat.

The person you were
whispering, “stay.”

The person you're becoming
saying, “let go.”

I thought the static noise meant
I was falling apart.

But maybe I was only
rearranging.

Maybe every ending
creates a new frequency.

Maybe every fracture
is a signal.

Maybe the static
was never chaos.

Maybe

it was evolution.