Part of the Knowing

I am part of the knowing…
not the psychic, neon sign, crystal ball kind.
It’s more of the…
quieter kind.
The kind that lives just 
under the surface of everything.
The neurodivergent kind.
The kind that doesn’t just notice…
It analyzes.
It catalogs.
It feels before it understands.
And
I feel everything…
like it’s mine.
Like emotions don’t belong to just one person
like they move through all of us,
and I just happen to catch them as they pass.
And I see everything...
I see the shift 
before the words come.
The pause in conversation that stretches…
just a little too long.
The tone that dips
just slightly off key.
The way someone starts leaving
before they ever say goodbye.
I see relationships change
in the smallest moments.
in what’s not said,
in what’s avoided,
in what used to be easy
but suddenly isn’t.
And I feel it in the air.
Not the weather.
Something else.
A pressure.
A tension.
A quiet build…
like something gathering itself just out of sight.
You might call it overthinking.
You might call it anxiety or paranoia.
You might say I’m reading too much
into nothing.
But it’s never nothing.
This feeling,
this constant, underlying hum
it’s always been right.
I am part of the knowing.
The kind that picks up on what’s shifting
before anyone admits it is.
The kind that feels the change coming
before it arrives.
And I’m trying to warn you.
not loudly,
not dramatically,
but clearly…
something is moving.
Something is changing…
in ways we can’t fully see yet
but can absolutely feel.

You don’t have to believe me.
You don’t have to understand.

But if you’ve ever felt it…
that quiet pull in your chest.
That sense that something is off.
Something is not where it's supposed to be…
Then you already know what I mean.
I am part of the knowing.
And we don’t speak up
because we want to be seen.
We speak up because
silence feels like ignoring a warning.
So listen…

not to me,
but to that feeling
you keep trying to explain away.

Something is coming.

And some of us…
Already know it's here.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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