Exhausted in Technicolor

I am tired in ways the sun can never warm,

bones humming like streetlights that never turn off.

They call it resilience and strength

but I call it disassociated survival on repeat,

a hymn stuck between clenched teeth

And aching fists that cut into calloused palms

I wake in fragments,

pour grace into every wound,

and still the world asks for more

another smile, another miracle,

another ounce of patience I never had time to grow.

Another advice they’ll never take

Another moment for me to assimilate

My hair holds stories,

my skin holds centuries.

Every glance in a boardroom, a bus stop,

a bargain for peace in exchange for space.

I am the daughter of thunder and tenderness,

of women who worked and worked and prayed

until their names became verbs.

I am their rest,

And I have not yet rested.

Sometimes I dream of softness

silk mornings with no fight in them,

hands that only build, never brace.

Until then,

I breathe in the dark

and exhale light anyway.