Sam M's poem starts as a list of exhaustion. The speaker is tired of faking smiles, of hiding who they really are around other people, of constant insults, and of the sense of falling. The repeated "I'm tired" works like a heavy sigh, each time followed by a new weight. The most painful complaint may be the one about getting better and then "having it ripped away," which suggests hope that keeps being snatched back.
Then the poem turns. Three times the speaker says "I'm not tired" of something, and these lines are gentler: feeling happy, even if only "good enough sometimes," being themselves, and "you." We don't learn who "you" is, so the reader can imagine a friend, a loved one, or someone the speaker is addressing directly. The final line, "And that won't change," feels quiet but firm. The mood is worn down and sad, yet it ends with a small, steady kind of hope and loyalty.