i've grown tired
asking the rain
to bless the drought
within my soul.

a potted plant
could never tell the
difference between
rain and tap water, anyway.

i've strived to bloom
for things, places and people
earnestly opening my petals
but everything withers
the next day.

oh hopeful to rest–
although the sun shines
but my roots are no longer
eager to grow.

just this—
utter exhaustion
for everything
and everyone.

this vile
weakness
coursing within
purple veins
of mine.

i just wish
to float
like a cloud
or live like
rain for a day.