By: Ashley O’Hare
I’m just so tired
no matter how much I get to sleep.
My head is still aching;
my stomach feels too weak.
Why can’t I go back in time?
My younger self knew so much more.
Now, in my old age,
crawling out of bed is an unnecessary chore.
There is no magical cure—
I have searched high and low for years.
I’m running out of hope to hold onto.
All I have to my name is a gallon of tears.