I’m exhausted.

Oftentimes, I’ll sit and stare

And phase out for a moment or two.

I’ll come back around,

And I’ll look all around,

And I’ll think:

Who the frick are you?

I’ll say a word, in reply to your few

(That’s just what a polite person do)

But oftentimes I’ll not have a clue,

I just do what I’ve been told to always do.


And smile.

Respond in agreement.

Don’t be controversial

Don’t cause disagreements.

I can sit and watch my son play for hours

And romanticise weather, the sun, the snow, and the April showers.

I can talk for what seems like forever and more,

I can jump, and spin, and crawl on the floor.

I can sound remarkably smart and grown up,

But I also can sound like I’m just throwing up

Words, sounds, and concerning inflexions,

(Fear not, this verbal diarrhea is not caused by infection!)

I can walk for a mile, I could go all night long


But this isn’t the norm, please don’t get me wrong.

I’m not one to shout in defense of my illness,

In self deprecation I deflect any care,

But it gets to a point, when in a brief moment of stillness,

I have to say

I’m exhausted

As I pull out my hair*


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