I'm tired of being told how "strong" I am,
how "brave" I am,
how "inspiring" I am,
how "independent" I am,
how "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" I am.

Stop telling me what I am.
I know you're trying to help, but sorry,
if you're telling me that your adjectives are clear interpretations of my personal reality,
you've got it wrong.

I am weak,
I am vulnerable,
I am impressionable,
I am sofuckingtiredofbeingtired.

Maybe I like being this way,
maybe it's why I haven't crawled on my belly,
out of this hole I've dug, deep under my heart.
Maybe I'll build a nest in this hole,
maybe I'll call it home for a while,
while my heart strings string together pieces and shards and broken,
empty jars that once held ambition and positive disposition and collective recognition of hope.

Or maybe I'll just poke
around the haystack,
the needles' got to show itself soon,
lest it ***** my finger and bleed me till I swoon,
at least then I'll have time to sleep,
time to rest,
time to keep,
time to lay,
time to weep,
time to play,
time to
sleep.