She said:
“I’m too tired to help.
I’m too tired to stay
In this room where you weep,
So please, just go away.”

“Find someone else to console,
The aching heart you display;
I’m too drained to help,
So please, just go away.”

“Ok, fine,” I reply.
“I’ll leave your room and let you rest.”
“I’ll let you lie here,” I sigh
“I’ll cry alone, a broken mess.”

She said to me, “I need your help
I’m sad and lonely here, so please
I know how broken you have felt,
But just forget that and help me.

I say, “No. I’m too tired to help.
I’m too tired to stay
In this room where you weep,
So turn around and go away.”

Maybe before, if you were there
If you had held me in your arms
I would soothe your pain, would care
About this thing causing you harm

But you made me too tired to help,
Made me too tired to stay
In this room where you weep,
So take your tears— and go away.

mom says
i’m the best person she knows.
i smile.
i’m good at pretending.

she says i’m kind,
but i know when it’s a performance.
she says i’m gifted,
but it feels like a trick
i’m barely pulling off.

my sax squeaks,
my test scores blur,
my muscles ache in the water.
and still she calls it talent.

i nod along,
quiet and guilty.

if i’m so good,
why do i always
feel like a lie?

Words weren't always
meant to hurt this much
but men were always good at making
weapons
out of anything.