I’m tired of feeling this way.

I’m tired of being the irrelevant character in a plot that doesn’t need me.

I’m tired of giving the world to someone who doesn’t want it.

I’m tired of battling with your addiction for your intimacy and/or attention. I’m tired of being your buzz to get you through your withdrawal between one puff to the next time you'll grasp the




me along apathetically to displace that empty hole in your soul with high, blackened lungs.


I’m tired of only existing when I’m in front of your face, that without me around I disappear off the face

of the planet.


I’m tired of having this feeling that I’ve finally found the one who will pull me back 

to his chest in the morning when the alarm goes off, mumbling in his morning breath,

“just five



with me.”

It’s all I could ever want and I’m tired of feeling like I can’t feel it back.


My mouth, it wants to speak, it has so much to say, yet the presence of another conscious being stamps out my thoughts,

clouds my brain,

derails the trains

that carry my ideas and dreams and beliefs in a way that causes me to be


in such a way

of ignorance, or proper prim & grace,

or just a pretty face.

It’s such a fucking disgrace.


I’m tired of not knowing how to properly “express anger” or like my therapist says,

let myself feel the pain when I'm disappointed,

I maintain a compassionate view and am unable to feel

- disdain -

even when you’ve wronged me, even when I’m through with the bullshit you put me through, I stand up for you, make excuses so that you can remain

on this high pedestal that I've set for you.

I justify for you and for everyone who's wronged me to validate this deep inner feeling that all of us are beings of


and how could I be so naïve to think that someone would intentionally hurt me?

People can’t do that.


Im tired of being naïve.

I often wonder when my blind optimism I feel for the world will pan out and I'll be left decrepit and blind to any light.

I dread the day when night won't be a transition back into the light again but simply the ending point to another wasted day.

I’m tired.

I am tired.

Of feeling this way.

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Guide that inspired this poem: 


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