My strength wears me out. I am tired of being strong. I am tired of the constant, perpetual cycle of being strong. The idea of strength now scares me because it is a reminder of the need to carry on. To carry on explains the existence of pain, hurt, anger, and lemons that have refused to turn to lemonade. I am exhausted from strength itself. I cannot believe a time would come in my life where my own strength wears me out.

I used to be proud of my strength. So crazed about it that I fear I might have dared life. Dared life to do its worst. Come at me, I am capable. And for that, life has come at me. Crumbled me to the ground, laid me flat and spat in my face continually. My strength has saved me sometimes, maybe I owe my life to my strength. But at what cost? At the cost of not being able to relax, breathe, enjoy, and savor. All I have for a life is fights. Fights at every turn, fights at every corner. I am left with battles I'd rather not face anymore.

I am the soldier that has won many fights that the thought of another, the thought of blood, stab wounds, and screams is so nauseating I rather lay down and sleep. I am tired. God, I am so tired that I keep screaming for better. I can’t keep fighting battles all my life? The constant struggles, battles, and challenges have put me at crossroads. This time I want to choose ease. I want life to look me in the face and realize that I deserve ease. I have faced so many heartbreaks I am scared of the Pandora’s box. My Pandora’s box is never empty. It churns and churns and churns. Like a part of its exhausting existence is to crackle a smile as I wield my sword at each turn. Unable to savor life, unable to breathe and take in the present. I am so used to fighting that a minute of silence is spent brooding, plotting, and scheming. Scheming on the next ploy to fight the next phase. When does this battle end? When would I breathe, laugh, and sleep without the weight of battle clothes pulling me down. All I see now is red. The red so blinding that I am convinced I might never truly gain the opportunity to view other colors.

The scary part remains, is my life hinged upon these battles? Or like the delusional 21st-century existing individual, would peace and calm find me? This is not a piece intended to provide peace. This is a piece from a war-torn woman, stuck with deep emotions and resentment that is slowly turning into weary. I am weary, and most importantly, I am tired.