Writing

I’m tired.

Not “need-a-nap” tired.

Not “school-was-long” tired.

I’m tired in a way that reaches all the way down to my ribs.

I don’t sleep much anymore.

I stay up listening.

Not for music.

Wisps of smoke flick through the sky

a quickly fading whisper of what was

of what used to be

but not anymore.

Faintly glowing embers

tokens of the past

they fade away too soon

There's a lilac bush

or a tree

or a bush-tree

none of us can actually tell

and its name is Bob

or Barbara

or Bobara

none of us can decide

and it is a gender-fluid lilac bush/tree/bush-tree

I'm not going to lie,

I don't care -

I never really did.

I didn't last year

And I still don't.

But.

It does give me that

Teeny

Tiny

Itty

Bitty

Little

Bit of

Sometimes you just can't.

The hardest part is accepting it,

At least for me.

Accepting that you won't be able to

Carry every load

Be every version of yourself

Always be the best

Meet every expectation.

i am a dreamer

with plans for something big

something great

i have a purpose

i strive to live for 

and passion