Fundamental

I’ve lost something.

Something important,
fundamental even,
but I’m not sure what
it is or was.

I just know it’s gone.

I thought it was
you or
him or
maybe someone else all together,

but it’s not him
and I’ll never know if it’s you,
so maybe it’s not a person
so much as a piece of me,
of my person,

but I’m sad now,
and I can’t figure out why.

I want to run,
to burn it all down
and flee,
disappear
like I’m dead,
buried,
a figment who can start again,
forgetting all
the fuck ups and failures.

Scorched earth.

That’s what I want,
but I’m too much of a planner.

I’m broken and obsessed
with finding the right order
for my shards,
but no one knows what that is.

Especially me.

~Patience

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Complicated

Too complicated
to explain,
to understand.

What happened
to fidelity,
to change?
To being a better person?
To honor and growing up?

What about these is
too complicated to explain?

Has she done something?
Have you?

Do you miss the pieces
you break from me,
the ones I send you
in tiny messages
filled with apprehension?

The thrill of knowing
I’m yours
even when everything else
is going wrong?

Is that what makes you
fall back,
crawl back
to me
even as you demand
I crawl to you?

~Patience

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Experiment

Not jealously.

Not exactly.

More like hurt.
The insensitivity
of it all.

Like you said it
because you knew
it would hurt me.
Pinch my fragile worth,
and you like to hurt me,
I think.

Sometimes,
I wonder
if you’re cruel
just to see how much
I’ll endure.

And I can’t help
but suffer on,
agony leaking
from my dreams
of you with her
or others
while you imagine
how it will be
to tell me,
to whisper
in my ear
how they felt inside.

***

FYI: In case you might be worried, I am NOT in an abusive relationship. I realized it might seem this way when reflecting on this piece, so I thought I’d mention it. I like the poem how it is, so I’m choosing to add this message instead of water down my work for worry of your reaction. Hope you like it anyway. 🙂

~Patience

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Crisis

Suffer,
bleed,
weep

until sanity seems

distant,
fractured,
beyond.

Suffer,
scream
until it’s over,
until I am no more.

Arrows,
wooden stakes
made from splintered words,
they gouge out my heart
in inch-sized pieces
until I am only shadows,
miniature versions
of those pictures
you have in your room,
hidden in boxes
behind walls
of forgetting.

Who was that?
That girl?

I’m not her.

The one who blames others.
Now I just blame myself
for my schizophrenic tendencies,
those mild moments
of identity crisis
where I’m not sure
if I’m me
or her
or someone else.

I just know I’m
shattered,
inhuman,
a shell
walking around
disguised
as a girl,

and you are
imaginary,

ghostly lines
embedded
in my skin

while he is a demon
hovering in my insides,
blacking out all joy
and leading me towards oblivion.

~Patience

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Tears

Sometimes,
the tears
want to come.

So badly,
they want to
roll,
plummet,
crash,
to fall into hope
instead of desperation.

They sit,
dangling
from the edges
of my eyes,
heat boiling
at the corners,
and I want to let them go,
to release these feelings,
this pain,

but I’m usually in class
with thirty pairs of eyes
staring at me,
and I know I can’t.

I must go on in that moment.

But what happens
when that’s all the moments?
The fiery salt
raging at my eyelids,
threatening,
pleading to pour?

It’s torture,
and I think
it’s loneliness.

Like the shrink said.

I’m broken
and alone
even in the
middle
of a crowd.

~Patience

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Happy 

I told someone today that I’ve never really been happy,

not in the complete sense,

and I’m not sure what it would even look like
to be in that place.

I can maybe make
a list
of what I’ve heard
happiness equates to,

but isn’t that just a construct,
a figment based on surveys and data?

Which should mean something,
but does it? Really?

I’m not so sure any of us really know because
aren’t we all searching for something,
some sort of satisfaction we think we’ll get with

the next fix,
the next kiss?

Yeah.

We search in fruitless fervor,
and we drown in wanting.

Maybe I am happy, and I just don’t know it.
Maybe satisfaction is under my fingertips, and I’ve seemed to have lost my sense of touch.

Who the fuck knows?

I don’t,

so I talk about being unhappy and do nothing because fear has the wheel. It clutches at the leather and yanks me toward oblivion, toward misery and lacking and chaos, bad choices, stupid mistakes, and I can do nothing but talk and watch and pray to a God I’m not sure exists while tears stream and mouths scream for the joy I’ve never felt.

~Patience

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Yes

Air,
so much
air,
and breathing,
the weight
vanishing,
its suddenness–
a gasp,
bright,
ferocious,
the freedom
and peace,
they descend,
hover,
collide,
sweep me
in blooms
of oceans
and vast forests
of beautiful echoes.

One word,
no three,
or four,
but they
released me,
pegged me,
folded me
until I floated.

Yes.
I breathed
in and out
and yes.

It was all I needed.

~Patience

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Surrender

“Desire becomes surrender. Surrender becomes power.” Joker, Suicide Squad

It’s madness,
this desire,
these thoughts of
giving in,
giving up
all control,
submitting
to you
in ways
no one
understands.

I want to
surrender,
burn
under your grasp,
your chains,
the binds
that twist
on my wrists.

Relinquish
my fear,
be yours,
show you
I only want
to please,
to see your face
when I finally
get it right,
to feel you
inside me,
walking around
in my head,
to touch
the reward
I want to earn.

Power boils within
the surrender,
stripping away
the agony,
the fear,
embracing
the power
to submit.

~Patience

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Dancing: A Conversation in My Head 

“I love this song.”

“It’s a good one.”

“You should dance with me.”

“That’s not what we do.”

“I know. But, so what?”

“It might change things for you in ways that are dangerous.”

“I know, but anything with you is.”

“True. But you know my thoughts on us moving past our agreed upon relationship.”

“I understand, but it’s a dance. We used to have more than demand and confirm. We used to…”

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

“That answer will cost you later.”

“I know.”

“So answer the fucking question.”

“Talk. I want to listen to music, talk, be, and not just belong.”

“You will always belong to me.”

“I know. That was never the question.”

“Then, what is the question?”

“I want to dance with you. I want some of your gentleness. Just for a minute.”

“We have never been gentle.”

“That’s not true. You’ve held me many times.”

“But you loved me then.”

“Don’t I have to love you, at least in a way, in order to be what you want? Here? In this secret room where you command and I submit?”

“Aren’t you worried you’ll regress, want me again, like you did before?”

“I told you. I could never just be with you. I would suffocate under you, drown in my devotion, lose myself to be who you want. I could never do that.”

“Alright then. Dance with me.”
~Patience

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Zero

What am I supposed to do?
It’s fucked.
The whole thing.

You want black and white,
and give me only gray,
yet I’m to choose.

This or that.
All or nothing.

And I want all,
but fear bites
at my heels
and you provide

zero comfort.

Your idea
of reassurance
is silence,
and anxiety
suffocates me
when you
go black.

But you don’t care,

so how am I
supposed to trust
you to keep me,
appreciate me,
ease me
when I’m scared?

What you ask is
not easy,
not simple,
and your ambiguity is

all I see.

How am I to know
the right answer?

You say impulse,
and my instincts say

submit,

but my brain says
you are asking too much
without enough clarity.

No contracts so no rules,

but I need the rules.
Without them, I am lost.

~Patience

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