Bitter Almonds

I am tired.

Tired of writing about the rain. Tired of viewing puddles. Tired of those legs trying to outrun an invisible competitor. Tired of my hair falling over my eyes whenever I break into a sprint. Tired of interrupted sleep. Tired of things that don’t make sense. Tired of worrying for tomorrow. Tired of looking. Tired of complaining.  Tired of being left alone. Tired of waiting. Tired of people that I want dead.

And most of all, tired of being tired.