Patience Is a Virtue Dear

Sunday, every week ….

Prompt: Patience

Music: I couldn’t settle on one thing today so I picked a playlist on Spotify called Brain Food, it says it’s hypnotic electronic.


I’m drowning beneath the fluctuating, undulating, slowly rolling
Crushing weight of this water.

It holds me hostage, tied down by sunlight streaming, reflecting, breaking
Against the seams of who I am.

It strangles me with icy grips, threatening to rip me apart;
Pieces of paper against the downpour, soaked and floating.

Be patient is what they say, what’s meant to be …
May never have been meant for me.

But my mom taught me well,
Patience is a virtue, that’s the story they tell.

So sit with your drowning, collapsing fears.
Hold tight to your scrambling, screaming soul.

After all, patience is a virtue dear
And rescue is never near.

We grasp the daydreams
So that we become the reality.

What’s meant to be speeds overhead
Never realizing, missing, the last bubbling stand.

Sit tight with that patience there.
Help, well help is over there.

Not watching for your drowning hand,
Or your fleeting splashes.

Everything that’s meant to be
Is tied by seaweed,

Held strong to the collapsing floor;
The thin barrier between always there and nothing more.

10 minutes done.


Noisy Journal Writing


This is stuff I found written in an old journal. I typed it up here but never published so it’s been hanging out as a draft for about a year.

How many tears have you cried
Waiting for mine?
Twist your bones, peel away
Scars of old, open on their own.
You’ve always been alone
Watching the world in slow motion.
You’ve never heard the screams
Even when they were your own.

Twist the knife
Ever slow
Make me yours
Take it by force
Worse than hate
Is the apathy
Push me down
Make me feel

I’ll lay in the mud
Face down
Just to make me feel
Twist the knife
Cut just right

I remember the way you feel
In my dreams
Slow and deliberate
Why didn’t you speak?
Why didn’t we speak?

The buzzing is loud.
There are a thousand flies on one body alone.
Not counting the thousands more,
Bodies I mean.
It’s done, in a blaze of glory,
The world was razed.
Now it’s ready.
All the flies,
Swarming a blank slate.
The buzzing drowns everything else out.
I can’t hear you scream,
I’m too busy watching the world burn.
Not that we ever cared anyway.
Not that you ever cared anyway.
Tell me a thousand lies,
One for every fly.
Give me just one reason.
Not that you ever cared anyway.

Check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch

Suddenly Is All We’ll Ever Be


Suddenly is all we ever were.
Suddenly friends, lovers, soul mates.
Suddenly alone in the night and in our fight.
We always said “you and me”,
Two against the world.
But the world kept spinning
While our story crumbled between our fingers.
Suddenly I’m lost
In your eyes and smile.
Suddenly I can’t breathe when you look at me.
Suddenly is all we’ll ever be.
Spinning, spinning and we all fall down.

There’s lovely poetry at The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch this week, go check it out

Blue Doors

Blue doors stoic against white washed summer walls
What awaits me beyond those carefully curated wooden walls?
Are there candles aglow or choirs angelic?
A return to life which withstood pandemics?
Were every role played
Within the confines of finite memory?
Perhaps there awaits all which we’ve lost.
Tears shed over damp sheets
And fresh mounds of dirt;
Carefully sculpted castles for our bones.
For once I may say, we’ll never truly know.
As my ornate blue doors slide into the distance,
The way our true love fades
From your memories and words,
Meant for another, promised over sun bleached summer days.

A little story time to go with this little poem.

When I was a snotty pre-teen, maybe around 11 or 12, I was giving my mom a hard time as we drove home. I don’t remember about what, it doesn’t matter really but it was a moment for her that unleashed something else. Without saying much she swung her old minivan into the parking lot of a mixed Korean/Baptist church at the end of our street and started crying.

“Maybe one day I just won’t come home.”

I didn’t know how to react. I kept telling her it would be ok but what I really remember is that we were parked right in front of the church doors.

Looking back I’m fairly sure my mom probably suffered from the same anxiety and depression that now plagues me and my sisters in various forms. Coupled with the weight of my narcissistic father’s constant cruelty and I’m certain this wasn’t her only breaking point.

It may not have been a breaking point at all but more of a blip on the radar of constant pressure to provide when the one you’ve promised to walk beside has more or less declared “jokes on you”.

Today’s International Women’s Day and I’ve seen posts all over social media remembering and celebrating accomplishments. That’s wonderful, I embrace it. I also ask that we not forget about the women who are dragging themselves out of bed everyday simply because they have to. The women who have laid awake all night threatened by their own nightmares and now have little people depending on them to function. The women who have gently laid dreams aside or practice them quietly after hours because there’s simply no one else to “bring home the bacon” and the dreams they have aren’t to that point yet. The women who have found themselves trapped and unable to leave for fear, so they trudge through every day the best they can while pretending everything is ok.

Society has come far but society still has a way to go.

Daily Prompt – Uncompromising

Cotton on the Breeze


Picture book pages flip in the wind,
Like flimsy fabric ripping against the trees.
These memories fall victim,
Pictures of life we may never see again.
They fly from our fingers much too fast.
If I’m unable to grasp
The color of your eyes
Or gentle waves in your hair …
If your fingers slip from mine
Before I can feel them slide
Along my sides …
If these memories begin to evade,
Should they slide away like cotton in the breeze …
Let me tell you before they’re gone,
Just one more time.

Tiptoe The Line


I tiptoe the line
Between the ever converging
Gold and brown of your eye.
I balance so fine
On the hair pin moments
Of raised voices and tender kisses.
One day I’ll swan dive
Into the crushing distinctions,
Bringing reality rushing over daydreams.
For now …
I dance the edge of a dime,
Spinning through scenes
Painted like oil slicks on my mind.