I am so, so tired.
But I’m not yet broken.

And I can’t be told
when the tell leaves a bad taste
and a funny smell.
When the book being written
comes with illustrations of an empty well.

“I am not welcome at court anymore.
They kick me hard
as I fumble with the handle
on the exit door.”

“Positional power feels medieval, like the lord and the farmer. It’s a weapon, but you have no suit of armour.”

This is what I am.
Now these years have melded together,
or fallen into life’s stew.