I’ve lost count of
the times I got
up on my feet
after falls from grace.
I am kissed and then
stripped again, tied
to crossed bars and then
whipped apace.
I’ll roll stones in the
morning, by evening
those stones will be
back in place.
I confess I am tired
of the words ‘you are hired’
in this martyr’s space.
aplaceforpoetry 
You are Sisyphus, but unlike him, you know who you are, so you won’t keep rolling, the same stone.
This is a beautiful poem.
Thank you Cindy – wise words x
Wondering where the sense of martyrdom comes from. I do know the meaning of falling down and hauling yourself up again, only to fall again. I have this problem on psychological, emotional, and physical grounds. It is tiring, I’ll give you that.