Photo Credit: miamojolene at deviantart.com

You would have known
that I wasn’t done,
that I wasn’t satisfied,
that my craving wasn’t fulfilled.

You would have stayed
until I was,
until my body trembled,
grew rigid,
screamed out in release.

You would have made sure
you gave me what I came for.

I walk away,
one more time,
with desire unquenched,
need unmet,
and all I can think of is
what your hands
might have done

~ Patience


Trapped Like Bugs


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I don’t want him in my head,
but he’s stuck
like bugs on a windshield,
like bears in traps,
like feet in quicksand.
And because he’s stuck,
so am I.

I can’t breathe
and I keep shaking my head
trying to shake him out,
rid myself of his fingers
crawling around in my brain.

He wants proof
and fuck him for wanting it
and fuck me for wanting to prove it.

Why can’t he see
that I am bound to him
by more than chains
because these are restraints
I’ve secured myself,
ones I’ve locked
before handing him the key.

~ Patience




Photo Credit: lydiahansen at deviantart.com

You know you’re becoming addicted
when the drug always sits
on the edge of your thoughts,
when you feel its colors
floating up your veins,
twisting its tentacles
around your brain,
weaving webs of control
between your synapses.

This is what drugs do.

They grab on and dig in,
and you can never escape
the maze they’ve made
of your mind.
They feed on your need
just as you devour
their delicious release.

It doesn’t matter
if it’s heroine or nicotine,
alcohol or pills–
the effect is the same,
but what if it’s not substance
but human?

What if your drug
breathes, speaks, lives?
What if the only escape is death,
yours or his,
it doesn’t matter which.

~ Patience


The Kiss


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She’s there and crying, her mascara staining her cheeks, and you think she’s never been more beautiful. Her sadness paints her face in sunset colors, her green eyes sparkling with pain. Through her tears, she holds on, exclaiming her need for home, for a place full instead of fake, and you hold her, trace her tears with your fingers, hoping you can ease her heartache.

You know those green eyes will never be yours. You know she just needs a friend, and your own heart aches a little knowing that’s all you’ll ever be,

but her lips are suddenly searching your own, her hands roaming the strands of your hair like waves combing the sand.

And it’s now. You realize this is when it happens, the kiss you’ve been waiting for since you first saw her face. You remember her mouth tastes like cinnamon, her tongue sweet and hot. You remember her skin and her fingers and the salt on her lips. You remember every part of this thirty second moment because

it’s not the first kiss or the last kiss. It’s not those kisses that are the best. It’s this kiss, the one you’ve waited for. This kiss that you will remember above any other because it’s her and it’s been twenty years of longing and you know it won’t last because as suddenly as it began, she’s gone, her footsteps echoing down the corridor,

and it is now that you start counting time because this is when before her ends and after begins.

~ Patience




Photo Credit: Poomidor at deviantart.com

It’s always
that damn green light
blinking its way
into my brain,
making me remember
what it’s like to be there
and now here,
reminding me
what it’s like
to miss someone,
to wait for someone
that will never come.
It’s that fucking hope,
the hazy shine pulsing
in my dreams,
saying there’s something waiting
just beyond the green.

~ Patience




Photo Credit: utopic-man at deviantart.com

I think
I’m over the absence
infiltrating my days.

It’s almost unbearable,
the constant wondering
when you aren’t wondering
at all.

It’s so fucking stupid.

I want to throw things
at the wall,
at your head,
and I’m getting pissed off.

I am pissed off
and I don’t really have
a right or a reason to be.
I just am.

I used to think
your constant attention
was intolerable,
but now I see
the quiet is worse.

I wish you’d never come back.

I wish I’d never answered
that message.

Then my brain
wouldn’t be trying
to juggle yet another ball.

I’d be quietly drowning
instead of splashing around
in the deep end
while crowds of people
devour my demise.

~ Patience


Crescendos and Falls


Photo Credit: lullacrie at deviantart.com

The blocks
don’t fit together

My child’s fingers
clutch at wood
and primary paint,
yet I can’t seem
to grasp their meaning,
the significance
in the letters.

I’m torn,
shreds of me
lying on the floor,
in between the blocks
of my life,
the crumbling bits
of who I was
and who I am now.

Can people have midlife crises
at thirty-five?

Because I feel
a shifting,
an altering
of space
around my body,
the way it feels
when winter finally
and falls
into summer
or how the air smells
ten minutes
before it rains.

The transformation
shudders through my limbs,
and I wonder how long
I can stay still,
how long I can shake
before I finally break
and fly out into nothing.

~ Patience


To Be Free


Photo Credit: suzi9mm at deviantart.com

To escape,
be free
of this and here,
to be gone,
a ghost,
a memory soon forgotten.

How does one run
from a life built
on solid steps?

How does one crave
when here
is so much
beauty and safety?
When here
is so much known
and there
is so much black and shadows?

To run,
to walk out and fly,
into nothing,
perhaps everything.

To give oneself
to the vast,
to the fog,
to the edge.

This is desire.

This is need
when want
is not enough.

To be held down
and bathed in freedom,
empty of choice
because choice is

To be me
when me is dark
and that’s okay.

That’s the pieces
all swept up
and tied to the wall,
all free from responsibility

because responsibility is yours.

~ Patience


I am changed.


Photo Credit: EivindHansen at deviantart.com

I am changed.

My crooked edges
fold and tuck
until the shapes
birth new pieces,

and I’m changed.

here and then
trap me,
bend me,

and I am changed,

by your words,
your language,
your demands.

I listen and do
and I am changed.

I tell you I am yours,
but I never knew
if I meant it,

but I am changed
by your fingers,
molded by your will.

I am changed
which is how I know
I really do

belong to you.


For some reason, this one fucks me up. I’m all sorts of fucked up.

~ Patience


To Know Me


Photo Credit: muted-pain at deviantart.com

I think my mind is in these poems.
The way I feel and think
from moment to moment
hides within these bleeding words.

If you want to know me,
you must read me here.

My prose is flat pieces
of broken metaphors
trying to paint a whole picture
with only half the alphabet,
but my poetry–

My poetry
colors the sky
in oranges and purples
you’ve never seen.
It builds houses
in your head
and opens my heart,
flays it for an audience.

My readers
know me better
than you,
better than the people
who sit next to me
every day.

They watch my words
sprout wings
on the screen
and rise out
of heaps of ashes,
and they keep reading.

You want me to write you a story,
one that shows you my mind,
but if you really want to see me,
you must read my poetry.

~ Patience