CW: self-harm, death

Patience calls to me like a poisoned viper,

slowly creeping through my veins,

crawling towards the heart;

a lethal weapon for a soul meant for doing—

for a being as bright as me.

Patience is the needle that stills my heartbeat

and yet it’s also the antidote to this poison.

Because patience is surrendering to the most high—

a jolt of forgiveness is what cleanses the toxins from my blood.

I thank patience as much as I fight it.

I thank it for waiting for me,

I thank it for holding me.

Even as I beat it bloody to a pulp.

Even as I neglect my instincts.

It always tells me not to abandon myself.

But I push on, letting it scream and beg for me to acknowledge it…

For too long, patience has been my portal for dreaming;

it’s where my imagination knows no limits:

the stillness envelopes me

and suddenly

I’m no longer here,

free from this tired body,

liberated from the earthly chores,

and I can finally be…

It was one year ago, I realized this wasn’t the gift of patience

but the pain of dissociation—

a cry for help;

a feeling of when life becomes

too hard to bear

so I leave it.

I daydream,

I run away,

I avoid.

Patience is presence.

It’s proof of a beating heart;

a heart free from the viper’s poison;

living proof that I’m deserving

and worthy

of all good things.