i’m sick to death
of crying my eyes out,
pretending i’m happy.

i’m sick of the monotone
cycle of work—
made worse
from never resting,

from working
on holiday,
in another country,
when i should’ve been free.

i’m becoming no one.

i wanted to give you
enough time
to replace me – good luck,
but somehow
i underestimated
how much i had left
in my emotional tank.

three and a half years
was the greatest opportunity.
finally belonging
to a family that cared.

let that mean something.
right?
all due respect.