tired as I grow old

I am tired. Weary and running thin on the empty tasks at hand. I am tired of moving forward without a step ahead. And I am tired of there being nothing to say and always wanting to hear or say something. Words can only do so much, save so much, and no one will listen anyway. It is time I listen, or find the light, trust what moves, and the feelings I own. My wavering heart and an unsteady mind are not such a good match for one another, yet my odds are stacked. And I am betting high, all in as usual. I have nothing to lose but myself, but there is always something new, remodeled, reissued, updated, and better than ever I can become. And I am tired of living in this void where I am strung out and left out to dry. The one always outside in an unexpected thunderstorm.
And I am tired of being nothing and trying to be everything. Everything you want, what they want, and what I want. I want to be there just naturally. I do no want to resist this, resist you, resist me. Feel scared to be here, scared to be there with you, or anywhere at all. And I am tired, the outside is not where I am and the inside is no longer where I can hide. Losing your love, losing to love, losing to the power of the heart, losing what I am in love. I am so tired and I want to find home. But there is nothing there, nothing there in this street that will change me. There is nothing in the landscape, of you, of there, of anything. It will not change this, me in this. It is my tired soul, original and true.
In my heart, in mine alone I want to be everything. The idea is everything, what was and now I am nothing and have such a very long way to go until there is anything. Anything that can amount to my everything. And my body is heavy and I grow slow. Each breath is breaking my body and these moments will only try to be something or amount to nothing and yet strive to be everything. And I will find the quiet and then want the loud. I will want to be something to you and then fall away into nothing, while everything remains. I have so long wanted to make waves and little did I know there was an ocean I have been drowning in.
I do not know who to love, where to go, what to be, or where to go. And it is cold, and wish I felt warm. I cannot win but I refuse to lose. And he is my winning prize or am I his? Will we need to win, in order for some sort of fulfillment? And if they do not understand me now, they never will. But I promise I will try to be there for you, in this now, in what this becomes, and in all the uncertainty I create. So long as you do not let me go. I am ugly, I am nasty, and I am of all things faltering. Uncertainly pulses through my certainty, through my sanity, through my reality, and I am just not really certain. A creature of reaction, impulses, and knowing. A reaction to feeling. A fleeting moment and feeling something now, rather than never or too late. And I will wash up here or float away to there.