On being tired
There are days you invite me to hold up
everything in sight. You. The world.
My arms ache. Add more. Go ahead.
My body becomes numb. You look
into my eyes and tell me no one cares
about you. I shift, grit my teeth, and try
to explain you are wrong. You follow
the instructions from your past:
pour more, rinse, repeat.
I start crying. You change the subject
to how you give. I start shaking. I cannot
breathe. You remind me of all you do not
appreciate about me. The time I said nothing
the person I know would say. You remind me.
Again. “Do you see how hard it is to be me?”
Every day I stand, my arms reach to the sky
as the sun burns the back of my neck.
“Yes. I see”
Tomorrow this blog will return to the regularly scheduled programming of meditations and self-portraits and pictures from my trip and encouragement and all that good stuff. However, tonight I found my way back to this poem I began a few weeks ago and decided to share it here.