I’m tired of the voices outside my head;
Caught between contradiction of tongues;
Receiving what’s not been asked for,
from those who I wouldn’t dare imitate.
How much blood must be spilt on the page
for their satisfaction? How many mapped-
out plans, and goals stated, so intricately
articulated, will stop them from one more,
“Yes, but have you thought of…?”
I don’t wish for applause, and I don’t seek to
be understood. I don’t claim to be
something I’m not, and when I did, I became
what I hated. I can’t be all things to all
people, hard as I’ve tried.
It’s only me in the mirror.
It’s my stage to burn down.
I’m blinking, but the spots
in my eyes remain this time.
Emotionally exhausted;
Mentally worn-out;
Spiritually beat down.
Life is lived so close to death.
I don’t look up; surely not down,
nor even straight ahead.
Rather, I close my eyes tightly,
and wait for all of it to pass.
One more minute,
one more hour,
one more day.
Live, live, live.
– R.P.D. Sanders