The exhaustion of having ambition.
It burns in me like a fire often longed for and long forgotten.
It invigorates me and fills me with warm fatigue.
It sits in my muscles like stale gratitude.
Ambition, I welcome it’s return,
signs of life and soul where once I’d feared the loss of both.
I am alive, so damn tired,
But engaged in every single day with hope, some fear, and passion.
Fatigue develops when you spend every day moving forward,
And every morning wishing you could get back to sleep.
I take a day off and become hopelessly restless and instead engage in something productive,
With scarcely a hint of mere nervous energy.
I have things to do, now, and am glad for them.
But I’m so damn tired.
Grateful, hopeful, poised, even eager.
Soulful and joyful.
But so damn tired.