The better person, the wrong people

It’s not the low temperatures that bother me; it’s the burning on my skin
It’s not the work I have to put in; it’s the lack of sleep
It’s not the unanswered text; it’s the disrespect
It’s not the itch; it’s the inability to scratch it immediately
It’s not the Spring; it’s the sneezing
It’s not the distance; it’s the waiting
It’s not the empty stomach; it’s the grumbling
It’s not the conversation; it’s the misunderstandings
It’s not the aging; it’s the slow death
It’s not the sunlight; it’s the sunburn
It’s not the time; it’s the timing
It’s not the deep waters; it’s that I can’t swim
It’s not that I can’t be who you want me to be; it’s just that I don’t want to

What I’m trying to say is
it’s not that I’m tired of being the better person;
it’s that I’m tired of being the better person
for the same people, over and over again.