In a tragically special superior,
A tired that sleep can never undo.
I’m tired of stress, anxiety, fear,
Sick of the sarcasm that’s laced with lies,
Can’t stand the fights, the frequent apologies,
Tired of truces, of breakups and brawls—
I hate these people who whisper a love,
Who hate my eyes, my hair and smile,
I’m tired of jealousy, regret, and envy,
Shadows that cloud my higher priority.
I’m tired of pressing hands upon my head,
Stifling studies, teaching me true,
They’re pulling me down—
On my mind a feeling of failure,
In my head, emerald envy, guilty guiles.
And I’m tired; tired of high expectation,
Tired of feeling minor in a maximum,
Greyest gore, that stains my hands,
Apathy’s middle, forever neutral.
I’m tired, and tired, and sleeplessly tired,
My mind, a ticking time bomb ready to go—
What’s wrong today, down perhaps?
But on their query, all I’ve offered,
“I’m just…tired.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem