Worn

Is it ignorance that drives my fearlessness?
Or is it the overpowering need to rest?
I once used to be terrified at the mere mention
but now, sometimes I long for the end.

I have no sob story, just a normal tale found all over.
My actions seem selfless, and probably are.
Maybe that is why I am so tired;
lend yourself to another too much,
and you will waste away.

My will seems to be missing.
the excitement I used to feel all the time,
has turned into dread of everyday life.
my desperate reasoning for living,
has dried up into cruel hope for death.

Yet, even now, the last thing keeping me
away from the final embrace,
is what drove me to the limits of endurance.

It is the very people that have used me.
They who have slowly wrung me dry
with the innocence and neediness of babies.
I am what soothes their souls,
the mother that loves no matter what they do.

I was a naive people pleaser;
coming to this point willingly,
without knowing the consequences.

Beautiful devotion of genuine fingers
turned into a worn patchwork quilt.
Wear and tear covered up with
miscellaneous scraps of material.

But now that I am here in my sorry state,
every once in a while I see, in a moment of wisdom;
I am happy to be of use,
If not for myself, then for those I love.

Because sometimes, even a old and worn down quilt,
has a mysterious, slightly lonesome beauty.