I am tired.

Tired of hunting down the answers to the questions I don't even know, of chasing down the ghosts between your lips that entangle themselves in the fraying strands of my heart strings. I keep trying to grasp your essence, the fragments of beauty that are hiding between cracks of lightning bolts and worn pockets that simply carried too much. I wander around this godforsaken world, looking for you who left me behind in the rain so easily, scraped me away like dirt underneath your fingernails, indifferently trampling over the light I had held within me just so you could win.

Tired of having to make friends with the dust that settles in the hazy corners of my own solitude. I am an orphan, desperately searching for some place that would not shatter, some arms to call home, some brave hands to stitch together my fractures. The truth is that I've never felt anything but small, just another blip in the pulse of the world, a ghost amongst those of you who claim you love me. Because if you really love me, you have a seriously fucked up way of showing it. Since when did love translate to ripping me apart seam to seam?

Tired of putting everyone before myself with nothing good to show for it. Why do I chase happiness if it's so unattainable? This earth is full of zombies who live to cause pain, to leave scars on other people's limbs, to suck the very happiness from their souls. I am weary of not belonging to myself the way I should, of giving up my heartbeats to make sure I can still hear your shallow breaths, of pounding on the walls of this glass box you've encased me in, of being subject to your unhappiness. I am struggling to breathe. You are the seaweed that wraps around my ankles and drowns me, but I am stronger than you think.

Tired of apologizing for simply being alive. When I finally get my quivering limbs off the ground, I am always shot down by the resentment of the jealous wildflowers rooted to the dirt. I can't find it in me to apologize for simply breathing, for being able to smile. I cannot ask you for any forgiveness because I conquered my demons and stitched myself back together. I am not asking for applause. I am asking you to attempt to understand me. Just once.

Tired of being used. Of having to burn the photographs of the happiest times in my life, to transform them into worn-out memories lost somewhere in the fragments of time. Of being pried apart until all that remain are my unspoken secrets and salt water regrets. You take what you need and get what you want, it's impossible for me to succeed; you have ravaged my fields and set all of my dreams ablaze. You laughed as my walls burned and left me in the cold, wondering what I did to deserve this.

I am so tired.