Heatwaves
appear
before you words,
Sometimes Scolding.
Always Distorting.

Shrill phone calls.
Never knew nothings
could be so loud

What lies behind the
Lies that
She told
That she looked
Both ways

I’m so tired of hating myself.

One hand on my voice box,
The other smothering my mouth.
Your expectation is deafening,
Can’t seem to get my thoughts out.

A twisted love story,
I thought that you would save me.
But instead, you poisoned me with
Your confidence and bravery.

If jokes are meant for laughter,
Why does their delivery feel amiss.
Why does it feel as though,
I’ve been lured into the role of accomplice.

The victim, my integrity.
The perpetrator my ‘try hard’ smiles.
Next to you it feels as though
My character is constantly on trial.

It may very well be my fault,
A result of insecurity?
Is it that your character’s so perfect,
That I’m reduced to complete inferiority.

‘Tired’ has lost its meaning and value.
But synonyms feel inorganic, staged.

‘Exhausted’ holds a performative flare,
’Sleepy’ a sickening innocence.
I’m searching for a rough kind of simplicity,
Something to express both distress and lacklustre,
To be an agent for your understanding.

With one word I want your expectation to die.
Tired, I want you to understand that I’m,
Just tired.

In you I didn’t see that same
Love of creation.
Of words,
Of rhythm and its quick shadow.
Of feeling,
Of change and its temperamental beat.

I don't think I can love a soul
as loveless
as yours.