"Are you okay."
I seem to hear a lot more each day.
"Just tired I guess."
I always hear myself say.
"But not the kind of tired you think,"
I almost add each time. .
Much like a trapeze artist,
I balance on a thin line.
The true meaning of my words,
A loosely hung net of empty promises weaved into lies.
They won't catch me when I fall,
And it won't be a surprise.
But how do you explain tired ,
Or at least the true meaning of the word?
Do I come right out and say it,
Or would that scare away the world?
Nobody wants the truth.
To know of the sorrow and pain.
They all want the sunshine,
But I'm made up of rain.
Maybe tired will be my one secret,
I never truly share.
No hope for happiness.
No courage to try.
No love to hold onto.
To many goodbyes.
All this loneliness,
These secrets I keep.
The more tired I get,
The longer I weep.
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Paper Heart Poetry
PoetryThey don't prepare you for these feelings when you're a kid. ●●● Pain in the shape of words because human emotion is a powerful source of inspiration. Revel in the contradictions. Swim in the salty depths of grief. Climb the mountains of sorrow. Re...
