Pooped.

Wonder Woman is tired. She’s tired of being strong and powerful and tough. She is tired of the expectation of the world because of the image she has put forth. She wants to break down and weep and scream how she is full of rage and pain and sorrow and worry and fear and uncertainty and terror. She wants to cry copious amounts of tears, rend her clothing at the unfairness of things and pound the ground with her fists. She wants to behave like a four-year-old, just for a few moments.

Wonder Woman is tired of boys in men’s clothing, swaggering and pretending to be grown-up when, at the heart of it, they are four years old and incapable of looking past their own noses and seeing there is something out there other than their self-concern. She is tired of Mr. OOMA who can’t get past his own fear and inexperience to just be a goddamned friend. Fine, don’t want to sleep with me but stop being so fucking schizophrenic. If you think I’m too much and you’re worried I’m going to pull a Glenn Close and boil a rabbit in your kitchen, then tell me that. If you’re scared and unsure and just plain confused, just tell me that. If you never want to see me again and you’re sorry you’ve invested the time in this relationship, the grow some balls and tell me that so I can get on with my life. If you read this (and I’m pretty sure you do, although, god forbid that you actually admit it), then just talk to me. Be a friend, because, at the heart of it all, that’s what I thought you truly were. And Mr. Cute Boy, willing to flirt and play and be coy while being with someone who obviously doesn’t do anything for you, yet not willing to put your neck out to try something that might make you happy, either embrace the one you’re with or get off the pot and do something. If just one of you would be a Superman and just open your stupid mouths, Wonder Woman maybe would be able to get some rest and stop trying to read your frigging minds.

And Wonder Woman is tired of being tired. Of seeking and wanting and needing and reaching and coming back empty-handed. What she wants is simple – inner peace, contentment, someone to hold her close and tell her it’s okay not to be Wonder Woman for a while. Someone to rub her feet and kiss her forehead. Nothing much. Just everything.

Mostly, she is tired of her broken heart, shattered by someone who should have protected it for all those years, leaving her incapable of trusting that fractured organ to be real, to feel real, to be true. She wants the pieces to be put together so they will stop sticking her in the ribs, keeping her in constant pain, every single day, every single moment, while she keeps on the face the public expects.

Or maybe Wonder Woman just needs to quit whining, accept her fate and wreak havoc on the world. That’s always an option. Wonder Woman goes Emo. Hmmm. Food for thought.