Weak

I am the epitome of self-giving
I give and give
until there is nothing more to give
and I am a shrivelled mess—
and even then
I manage to find a little ounce
of giving to squeeze out—
I am no martyr
there is no broken mould
from where I came—
I have faults like any other
I am jealous
weak—
on many levels
I am far
far
far
from perfect
I am the first to admit
yet I will give gladly
with all my heart
all my being
to see satisfied looks—
heartfelt smiles
genuine bliss
this is my downfall
I will conclude
when things are beyond me
cannot be soothed
settled
sorted—
this
is
me