I wrote a letter
to a friend
to talk about
how tired
my soul felt.
He answered
by telling me what
I meant,
lucky for me
since I’m tired.

I’m tired of being told
what I feel,
and what I mean
when I say what
I say.
Nearly 50 now,
how many more decades
will it take
before I’m allowed
to speak for myself,
to be trusted
to know more of my life
than someone
living out of town.

I’m tired
of the way people talk
and the things men
don’t do.

I’m tired of the
the patronization,
of the quick summation
and easy dismissal.

I’m tired, too tired
to write
of what I’m tired of.

I’m tired of assumption,
asinine old stories
told the same old ways.