Just Tired

I am tired of life, tired in that way you do not say out loud,
the kind of tired that sinks into your bones and whispers
“stay down.”
Every day feels like a rerun of a war I never asked to fight,
same bruises, same storms, same shadows chewing at my spine
like they are owed something from me.

I am tired of pretending there is light at the end,
when the tunnel feels like it is turning into a grave,
and the only warmth I get anymore
comes from the friction of me fighting myself.
I am tired of holding on to people who let go first,
tired of carrying memories that feel more like curses,
tired of playing the villain in a story
where all I ever wanted was peace.

Some nights I lie awake staring at the ceiling,
wondering if the cracks are maps
to the places I lost myself
or warnings telling me to stop digging deeper.
Truth is, I am worn out,
dragging my soul like a body bag behind me,
trying to convince myself there is still something worth saving.

But the world keeps spinning,
careless and loud,
while I walk through it like a ghost
with a heartbeat.
And maybe that is my curse
to feel everything too sharp,
to love too hard,
to break too quietly,
to keep surviving when I am damn tired of trying.

Still… I breathe,
even when it burns,
even when the darkness feels like home.
Because somewhere in this storm,
somewhere in this tired, cracked version of me,
there is a spark refusing to die
a reminder that even the most exhausted warrior
is still a threat in the dark.

—Poet