IAM TIRED BUT I LOVE!

I am tired of white walls and antiseptic air,

the hum of machines pretending to care.

I am tired of waiting rooms that smell like fear,

of doctors’ words I half-hear through tears.

I love him—God, I do—

but love doesn’t refill the cup that’s cracked through.

I pour and pour until I am dry,

while my own pulse whispers, what about I?

I am a patient too, just quieter about it,

bandaged in invisible ways,

my heart bruised from holding strong

too many endless days.

Sometimes I dream of running—

far, far away, where no one needs me.

But then two small faces pull me back,

two bright suns anchoring my sea.

So I stay.

With love and weariness braided tight,

hoping someday someone will see

that the caretaker needs care too,

and that my tired is not unkind—

just human!