I am tired of searching
for something I’m not sure to find.
I am tired of writing
words I’m not sure I even understand.
I am tired of editing
poems written years ago and try to make amends
for visions I once had
that I barely remember, and much less comprehend.
I am tired of attempting
to believe that my writings have meaning –
But what else is worth believing in?
I’d do something else,
something better, more meaningful,
something worthwhile
if I thought that something existed –
I dream of a contribution
of some sort
beyond writing.
But I fail at visualizing
what that might entail
when everything besides my words
seem out of sorts.
I am tired of searching
for meaning I am certain I will never find.
I am tired of dreaming.