I’m done with this.
I’m done with hurting
all the fucking time.
I’m done with needing things
like drugs and crutches and people.
I’m done with waiting
on the scraps that fall
from official tables
tied up in red tape
and are never enough.
I’m done with shielding you,
so you don’t have to see
how tired I am,
how much this hurts,
how easy it would be
to just
stop.
I’m done with being ‘strong’
or ‘spirited’ or ‘resolute’,
or whatever else you want to call me
that I’m not,
not now,
because this has taken it out of me,
and I’m done with pretending
it hasn’t.

And I’m trying to believe
that it won’t always be like this,
that I can still get better,
and I know that this is just
one of the bad days
and it has to get easier,
but right now
that doesn’t help.
Right now,
it doesn’t mean anything.
Right now,
I’m just done with it all,

and I’m done saying otherwise.

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