Stop.

I'm struggling with some frustrating situations right now, and this is a draft of a poem I've written about one particular struggle.

Stop

If you don't want it, don't take it,
but stop questioning it.
You're like a child going from Mom to Dad
looking for the answer you want.

I've explained the same thing over and over--
much longer than anyone should reasonably expect.
You're like a spoiled child whining
because you can't have it your way.

Years of patient explanation hasn't moved you; years
of open conversation about your thoughts hasn't made a difference.
You're like a disruptive punk in school;
everyone gets punished for your bad behavior.

If you can't—won't—accept the facts in front of you, in black and white—
and red from my bleeding heart—

I'm weary.

I'm worn down.

I'm done.