tired (poem)

I’m looking at things, but my eyes are processing none of it. Or maybe they’re just capturing a moment as if the moment were a distant memory. Not the present. Not the real time of my life. But a reflection, a rippled image, maybe a dream? My eyes are tired, heavy. When did the weight of my eyelids exceed their strength? So much pressure on such a small muscle (figuratively and literally). Does my brain compensate to this fatigue? Does it work harder to accommodate? To accomplish? To build the puzzle without the pieces- without a reference?

Oh how much harder it must work. To make up for the lack. Must it feel resentment, anger. When parts don’t function, when life is blurry, when the path to understanding is under-construction, under-funded, over-worked and over-tired. Pressured to reconstruct the past as the present. To straighten the image. To wake up from the dream. To clear the blur.