Some Days

Some days it's like a twinge,
an unsettled thought tapping gently
at the back of a harried mind,
a feeling of slight misalignment
that I wear like two different-sized shoes.

Some days it's an iron fist slamming into my brain,
shoving all other thoughts out and
crashing into the back of my skull over and over
until I feel it start to crack.

Some days it's almost tranquil,
a soft, blue-tinted whisper on the edge of a dream,
and the only thing that holds me back from
settling into that sweet sleep is guilt
at finding any semblance of peace so soon.

Some days it's everything all tossed in together
like one of my mother's stews: 
nothing I want, but it's all there is. 

Some days I can handle the stew.
Some days I can walk for miles.
Some days I remember to breathe.