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I’m tired of pinning things  To the back of my head, leaving them at home  When I come over to help sort your strife into drawers,  Because once I was told not to  Let my nightshades grow on other people’s properties,  As they’re bittersweet and will, absolutely, spring  Up as vines.  And I’m sick of you telling me just this  As you chain me to a rocking chair,  Back and forth, rockabye, baby.    I’ve no choice but to sit with my face  To the dresser I helped you build  And fold clothes over my lap and stack until its guts are tidy again.  I’m tired of you telling me that this is love.  I’m tired of hearing that you love me.  And you, old man, I’m tired of listening for the front door,  For your feet to stomp,  For the microwave to go vr–bzzzzz, For the television set to croak,  For your throaty, phlegmy snore  To trail upstairs, queueing me to  Turn the lock, slap peanut butter and throw crackers onto a plate, shove that at you,  And fill myself a glass of early, early morning water,  Glancing up from the faucet to catch the  tick-tick  twelve thirty.      Tired -adjective- /ˈtaɪ(ə)r/ Weakened or exhausted by exertion, etc.: fatigued, wearied; also, sick or weary of, impatient with (something); slang, habitually disinclined to exertion, incorrigibly lazy.  I’m tired of answering calls, best friend,   From random hospital numbers  Whose psychiatric nurses have dialed mine,  Calling to confirm my name and relation   Before they set the timer for our conversation of  Me: Did they give you a roommate yet?  And  Me: We all miss you!  You beautiful, tumultuous child,   Dylan: May God bless and keep you always,   yes,  But, one day, let it not solely be me who  Prays for you. I want return on investment.   I’m tired, my role model,  of sharp, sour, spiraling  Trails of your leafy substance rushing at me  First thing in the morning. Open a window.  Push the cork back in  And sleep it off  And stop slamming the door on the bar refrigerator  And the bread box  And the pantry  And the fruit bowl…and maybe even me too.  Stop slamming the door on me.  You quit your job for me, you cut open your stomach for me.  b. Of food, flowers, etc.: limp with long exposure, no longer fresh. Of clothes: crumpled, shapeless, or baggy with long wear.  I’m tired of inviting you over, needy friend,  Just for me to press my forehead Against winter windows  And scour the junk drawer  For antacids,   Clutch the corner of the thin counter,  Stuff things into trash bags,  And brew you water instead because you  Spit the coffee I gave you in my face.   What a big help you are  To lie on a couch cushion with your feet up the wall,  Counting the jewels on your crown and  Explaining their costs.  You slept on my side of the bed And stole my charger  And rubbed your makeup off on my fresh towel but I kept quiet  because I was too tired,  from the beginning,  To tell you that I hated you.  I’m insanely tired of you, talk to me woman,  Velcro on my ass bound to the  Velcro on your stinky leather couch  And the tap-tap-tap of your heeled stiletto boots. I hate your poorly-moisturized under-eyes and that sign that says  Be patient with yourself–nothing in nature blooms all year!  With rapid, caffeinated, froggy eyes  You beam and stare and seem oddly envious  Of my ability to blink,  And you ask what I have to talk about this week   During our bright-white-light, prescribed  Forty-five minutes,  And all I have to say is  Oh my God, shut up.  a. In the predicate. Also in slang phrase to make (someone) tired  (originally U.S.): to get on the nerves of, irritate.   And, well, I’m tired of you, ladybug!  Because you are just so very thin and so very small, I already hate you,  And let me be full of myself and better than you for saying so.  All the crushing people in the world  Wish on you–they really, really rely on you– On the off chance that you will  Make them manager or proposed to or simply happy.  I’m tired of you spreading hope like wildfire,  Though since you are merely a Burnt, bleeding semi-circle, All of the hope you so foolishly fly from  Fingertips carrying  Cannot help but be false.  And maybe that’s just it, you liar,  You who drag your un-human, damn-lucky kind down by  Being loved for all the wrong reasons.  I wish for a million dollars, I wish for more wishes, I wish for a puppy.  Here’s my turn: I wish to go to bed.  You’re thin, you’re dangerous,  you’re fiery and regrettable.    “Tired, Adj.  (1).” Oxford English Dictionary , Oxford UP, December 2024, < https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/8789340174 >.

Very strange. Anyway, I miss Joan of Arc

Inspired by Plato's Allegory and "Self-Actualization" of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Art class 2024.

Art class, 2023!

Pretty tree at dusk, Martha's Vineyard 2022