I am tired

Every part of me is exhausted

From my hair follicle to the nail on my left pinky toe

I’m tired
Too tired to even try to make sense
My talents as a poet will have to come to light
In order for these stanzas to make the reader even care

My head hangs low from the weight of matted hair
My eyes can no longer shed tears because my ducks have gone dry
My lungs only rizes enough to allow a scream to escape when no one’s listening
My legs are stiff from wondering where the hell they’re suppose take me
My brain
My poor trusting brain who has listened to my heart for years has woken up in doubt
No longer trusting what the electrons are commanding
The sound of my son’s laughter keeps me from reaching for a trigger of some sort
My mother instinct goes into overdrive and all that see in my hand are pens

And so I write

I try to tell a blank sheet of paper to dance
I ask it to make my words penetrate my own heart as it goes blank from the ink
I beg for a poem to formulate under my stressful day written out for all to see
That I am still alive
I am still writing

And the only thing that would ever keep me from writing is…

Should I ever reach for help
As I am doing today
And no one comes
As no has this day

I hope to find another pen within the palm of my hands

Never a trigger of some sort

I’m at the end of this page
And it leaves me wondering if I will ever gain my strength back

I am so tired…