Tired…

…of starting again with hope,

when life is at its end.

…to pretend it’s never too late,

when I know it is.

…to climb in search of a sturdy rock,

when I know I walk on shifting sands.

…to smile,

when my heart cries.

…to pretend I’m strong,

when I’m weak inside.

..of looking alive,

When I’m dead.

Most of all, I am tired of an obsessive thought:

Do they not know,

or do they not care,

HOW MUCH A MOTHER’S BROKEN HEART HURTS?