Letter from the Tired One

 Letter from the Tired One

This is the letter from the tired one,  

the woman with a smile that never reaches her eyes,  

fed up with lies and slow-moving expectations.

I give in—if love’s a transaction,  

no one plays the game better than me.  

I won’t take dollars for my time,  

I still have my lines  

but I won’t deny the gifts anymore.  

Tired of fighting their version of me,  

tired of being the nice one who finishes last.

No more waiting.  

I’m on the treadmill now,  

on the weight bench, shaping my own reality.  

Love was a weight I carried too long—  

I'm dropping it,  

trading it for the strength of my own.

Everything’s fair game—because in the end,  

only results matter.

I bet I’ll get my ring when this is over,  

though I doubt it will come from the one  

who made promises so long ago.  

That you would always be in my corner—  

Too many fights happened with you nowhere to be found,  

you were never there when I needed you.  

So my faith has faltered,  

now you’re out of sight and mind.

Of all my missteps, love’s been an endless plateau.  

It wasn’t the ring I wanted, but something undeniable.  

But I’ve been knocked down too many times  

to believe it even exists anymore.  

I laugh when they say I’m ‘the one’—  

Give it a week, and we’ll see.  

Time revealed their lies, one by one.  

I leave the ring, draped in this jaded robe,  

defeat heavy on my shoulders.  

Time has built some muscles, worn others down.  

And as I reach the locker room,  

I wonder—what do I do now?