When “tired”
means there’s nothing
to give.

When “tired”
means your lungs
whistle dirges.

There are trees
bent more by the weight 
of life than you are,

trees that grow
anyway, but you
are no tree. 

So tired,
stunted,
stalled —

lonely too, or
alone at least,
even among friends, 

lovers, family.
Tired, alone,
shortened, stuffed

down from full height
and wasted, too wasted
to rise again. Or so at first

you believe,
forgetting how 
“tired” can easily become

“angry,”
shifting
in one breath.

When “tired”
becomes “angry, ” those dirges
turn martial, go loud.

When “tired”
becomes “angry” you
straighten like 

a full tree, even if
a storm’s coming 
full of lightning

and doom. When
angry, you grow.
You see who else

is angry alongside you and
realize the lightning can’t
take all of you. So

get angry, not tired.
Be what is needed.
Rise, grow, sing war.

It’s too early to fall asleep.