I’ve said those two words so many fucking times.

Im Done.

Maybe it’s a sport I’m through with, or a person, or a hard situation.

I’m tired.

I’ve always given up. Even when I was a child.

And now that I’m older, when I get hurt and don’t want it, any of it, I say, “I’m Done.”

But most of the time, Im not. I hand out second chances like pennies. I think it’s time I start realizing I’m worth a bit more then one cent.

And I can love again. I can always love again.

I’m in no rush, I’m too young to be watching the clock with ants in my pants.

Sometimes I give up with art. I stop writing, reading, painting, music, and just live for awhile. It’s nice, but no better.

Sometimes, more often then not, I give up on myself. I stop talking, stop everything. I wipe my webpages of everything and my face of any emotion.

But its there, inside of me. And I know I will never be really done, not even when I die. Right now, though, I’m done.