Admitting Defeat

I’m tired of ironing out the creases from the same screwed up old shirt That you so carelessly sling in the corner Efforts wasted, the metal blisters me with hurt I’m tired of hoping the sun still rises When your storms bring more bad weather I’m tired of trying to keep the pages of this book binded When you can’t even string a sentence together I’m tired of being passive A feather caught up in a breeze I’m ready to anchor roots now And grow taller like the trees I’m tired of banging my head Against the crumbling, worn, stone brick I’m too tired to keep on sleeping I’ve woken up to the last of your tricks