The Chrysalis

I have nothing left to give.
Every ounce of my
energy,
good will,
sociability,
patience,
time,
breastmilk
has been consumed by the
insatiable
around me.

I have nothing left,
just,
very simply,
nothing.

Nothing for the wailing infant who has nursed for the last 4 hours straight.
Nothing for the whining 4 year old for whom nothing is ever good enough.
Nothing for the recalcitrant 18 month old who needs to go to bed now.
Nothing for the guests (my parents) who sat on my sofa after joining us here for pizza.
Nothing for my husband who drowses in the chair opposite me, preventing me, by his very presence, from focusing on the writing I'd like to be doing.
Nothing for me.

I have given everything I have to give.
I have become an empty shell,
the discarded chrysalis,
devoid of the life it once held.
Unlike the chrysalis, however,
My contents have not
transformed.
I have been
consumed
by those around me,
whose need
seems ever greater
than my own.

I have nothing left to give.