I am tired.
In the spaces between my heartbeats
I find moments of silence
anchored by shadows to the breath of every dawn,
but this is before
the daytime expels sunrise’s misty serenity
and thrusts me into a place
where people use my ribcage as a staircase
and fill my ears with the incessance of murderous sparrows.
In a city wrapped with sweet ashen beginnings
and quietude and copper brushstrokes,
where the pale gleam of dawn breathes deeply and gently;
this silence that I so crave
I must trade
for the demands of every day.
My heart pleads with my mind,
tries to carve its way out of my chest before the half-light
is thrown into sharp relief.
I am tired.
I want to sleep,
and when I wake
I don’t want it to be because I’m too tired to sleep anymore.
I want to open heavy eyes to the russet streaks of dawn;
filtering through the slant of my blinds
and falling into soft patches of light.
Harsh daylight cannot compare; dawn’s hazy and muted eyes
(tenderly singing me awake with murmurs of the mournful night’s wind)
are blinded by piercing shafts of abrasive morning light.
They are stabbing the sunrise-
caustic and severe-
just as perpetual daggers of voices stab me.
Cacophonous bombardment; the noise! The light!
And I am so tired of the daytime.
This poem is an expression of how dreaded the daytime is, because with it come social, academic, and other responsibilities that tug me in every direction without realizing that they are slowly breaking me apart. The dawn perfectly represents the transitory stillness and peace that I breathe in every morning before it rapidly fades away. As my serenity disappears, the obligations of the moment fall onto my chest as suddenly as daytime waves away sunrise. The exhaustion of having to go through each day because I have to (not because I want to) is enough to keep me from enjoying the few moments of peace that I can find. Other people bring change and chaos without even realizing the complications that they create; that is why solitude has for me become something of a rare and cherished gift from Fate.
The summer, compared to school, is like a blissfully gentle dawn that lasts longer than most. The summer was an opportunity to lose myself in laughter and books, to spend my days in the company of words without the lives of others getting tangled in the tapestry of my tolerance. As an introvert, the summer is a haven for me. Meanwhile, the autumn brings with it expectations and loud, bright reds and oranges that my eyes- so used the gold, green, and blue of summertime- have trouble adjusting to.
It isn’t as though I don’t enjoy the company of a few select people; I love my friends and family in the way a dawn may love the chorus of birds that sings the world awake. But too many birds make a racket.
“Language… has created the word ‘loneliness’ to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word ‘solitude’ to express the glory of being alone.”