I give without expecting to receive, I tell the truth and expect to be believed. But what do you do for me? You drain me like a tub no longer filled with bubbles. You step on me like an old bath towel. I’m flushed away as if I am waste, a pile of rubble. I piece myself together like a vase that’s fallen too many times. Each time more and more of me is shattered beyond repair. You sweep me away, once again I’m in the trash like a ball of hair. I’m the note on the counter that says “have a great day! :)” Do you even read me? Do you even comprehend that you do even when you think you don’t need me? I am the pillows you suffocate in your sleep. I take the pressure and every night for eight hours I weep. The morning arrives and I’m the slippers on your feet; worn down, dragging beneath you. I’m tired. No amount of rest could cure the weariness in my heart. I sit it agony waiting on the next day to start.