Tired of putting words on paper,
Writing of realities of life I dread meeting ahead,
My life is slowly turning into a haunted well of imaginations,
My smiles birth sad poems that move tears,
My tears birth happy poems that move hearts to brinks,
My whole being has become an irony of feelings and expressions.
I am tired of writing about that beggar,
Yet I pass him everyday without looking at his face,
Not because I don't want to help,
But because the coins he has are more than all my accounts combined.
I am tired of writing of the broken family,
Yet I have half a decade before I stand at the altar to say my vows,
And have no idea how to run one,
I'm tired of playing the perfect observer role.
I am tired of writing birthday poems for hundreds,
When on my birthday I get three-word wishes,
-happy birthday Sam-,
I am tired of writing love poems that strengthen bonds,
Yet I lurk in the dark as I look for love.
I am tired of justifying the wrong and blaming the right,
I am tired of staying awake at night,
Worried that someone will write on that topic before me,
I am tired of waking up to write just to gain my sleep again,
I am tired of being confused with the persona,
I am tired of paining in penning.