Elijah's poem is about feeling split in two. The speaker's mind and body don't seem to be working together. They aren't even fighting out loud: they're "not talking, just existing," like two people sharing a room in silence. That quiet makes the disconnect feel colder and more stubborn than an open argument would.
The speaker is the one caught in the middle. "I'm stuck, in their argument" suggests helplessness, as if they have no say in a dispute that is somehow about them. The final lines shift the tone. Calling themselves "the poor soul" adds a bit of dark, tired humor, and the blunt "dealing with their shit" sounds worn out rather than dramatic. The speaker seems exhausted more than angry.
The short, clipped lines and lowercase style make the mood flat and weary, like someone muttering something honest and unpolished. It reads as a moment of frustration that many people could recognize, when what you think and what you feel in your body just won't line up.