I am tired of writing all these words that sound so lovely
Yet do not make a bit of sense
Tired of this make believe world that I am penning in place
With sweet rhymes and innocence

I am tired of pouring out my heart upon these pages
Time after time, over and over again
Tired of exposing the places inside that are still wounded
By all these battles that I have fought in

I am tired of being vulnerable to the knives and the nails
That are driven into half healed scars
By the pen that I wield in all of my precious time
From these endlessly flowing ink filled jars

I write and I write to expel all of these feelings
Running rampant inside of my head
Yet still they pour out from every single crevice and crack
While my tired heart cannot seem to get ahead