Tired

I’m tired of wanting to be loved,
Of waiting for the men I love to see me,
Of waiting for them to return,
And to leave.


I’m tired of second guessing myself,
Of not seeing myself as worthy,
Of waiting for acceptance
From a dead father.


I’m tired of thinking life can be lived,
Of losing people I love to death,
Or to life.


I’m tired of people being people,
Of losing the animals I love.
I’m tired of buying clothes
To ease my vanity.
I’m tired of waking and sleeping,
Of hoping and loving,
Of losing, and of believing
In promises.


I’m tired of giving chances
To those who don’t understand them.
I’m tired of eating and gaining weight,
Of falling sick and growing thin,
I’m tired of my heart,
I’m tired of breathing.

I’m tired of me.

The Beginning

It starts with little things:
A shout in a conversation,
A caress shrugged off,
A turning away in sleep,
Or a small promise
One forgot to keep.

It starts small:
A forgotten holiday,
Or a hug once a day,
A letter never written,
Or a word one needed to say.
A refusal to touch
After all,
Speaks more than words
By not sleeping much.

It starts quietly:
No great feeling of loss,
Just a tingling warning,
A squinting of the eye,
The littlest lie,
And then there is
Destiny’s pulling back,
As it starts to die.

Float or Sink

Why is it that some men love fiercely –
Just in the beginning,
Once the quest of love – and lust –
Is done, the fire abates?

Maybe it’s true of humanity:
After you get what you want,
You don’t want it.
Marilyn once said,
If I give you the moon,
You’ll grow tired of it soon.

But then, why is it that I still
Keep reaching for what was promised?
In fact, I base all my love on it.
Why is it that as I love more
I feel yours slipping away?

Am I not a man?
Or am I not made for this world?

But I have learnt from this world:
My efforts will eventually fail,
Others shall make me feel and think;

And if it is meant to be, we’ll float,
And if it is meant to be, we’ll sink.