Tired of being

I don’t dream in color anymore

it’s all very black and white.

Right and wrong good and bad

it’s either the truth or a lie.

I don’t believe in fairy tales

in magic or spinning webs.

The intricacy just confuses me now

and I get tangled up in the mess.

There is no speaking with rhythm

or using words that rhyme.

The music has gone from the sound of my voice

the words fall flat on the floor.

The smile has gone from my face

and the twinkle from my eye.

I paint on the grin I’m supposed to wear

to carry me through the day.

There is nothing driving me forward

nothing spurring me on.

The spring in my step is more like a limp

as each step is taken in vain.

I hate being broken, I hate being sore

I hate how those words define me.

I can’t pretend that I’m not dying a death

or that any of this suits me.

I’m angry and bitter and torn inside

the jagged parts needing repair.

I don’t know how to fix any of this

I’m so tired of being here.