tired of being me

i want to be
someone else
she says, sighing
at the mirror,
her white legs
folded
onto themselves
like scissors
without gleam
or edge.
we would like that,
you tell her,
ignoring the sigh
in her voice,
the martyrdom of her
words.
we're tired of you
too, you tell her.
the world is on it's
knees with
fatigue from your
presence.
you don't know
what i go through
to be me, she says,
i don't want to know,
you tell her. now
get dressed,
your disillusioned
public awaits.