I'm Tired

Location

I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know what it means to feel motivated in something that you really love doing since people expect you to be perfect. I continue to push but for what?

I refuse to eat.
I refuse to sleep soundly.
I refuse to quit.
I refuse to show love.
I refuse to talk.
I refuse to cry publicly.
I refuse to call for help.
I refuse to feel comfort and pride.

I am tired.
Please.
I am tired.

I crawl into a dark room and watch the swirling black hug me. It wasn't the first time I suppress my emotions. It wasn't the first time I rarely call on God to set me free. It wasn't the first time a man came in my life and demanded to be set free. It wasn't the first time I despise and ridicule my uniqueness because I am a joke to society. It wasn't the first time I began feeling ignored.

I hate silence.
I hate being healthy.
I hate being ignored.
I hate to live in chaos.
I hate to live in peace.
I hate everything that induces sorrow.
I hate pleasure.
I hate praise.
I hate you.
I hate me.
I hate us.

I hate how he came along and said it back to me. He loves me enough to say it back. I hate how I return his affection by being wicked and brutal. Deep in my heart I want him ever so badly. Why can't I be normal? Why can't I love? Why do I seek pleasure in abuse and reject affection and passion?

I'm tired.

This isn't a teenage crisis but advise to the wise. You can't put an age on maturity. You can't put a limitation on true passion. You can't be a professional if you can't endure failure. You can't give up until you experience exhaustion.

Guide that inspired this poem: 

Comments

Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression! 

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741