Patience is a Virtue, But Not One of Mine

Waiting with a lack of patience

Sometimes I am like the overeager child

Who expects a grand gift

(Which is exactly what he is and will be)

Other times like the desert wanderers

After four hundred years of slavery

They get exactly what they want

But discomfort shapes those callous hearts

Really, what are forty years more?

Ungrateful, sarcastic, cynical prayers

Made completely in vain

Are my daily bread

Nine months

Plus two days

Plus how many more

Equals eternity?

I beg for the pain of relief

And complain when it starts

Hypocrite

Then the pain subsides

And I renew my vows

To bear the pain with dignity

Yet I never do

Is it time for tea again?

Three drops for thee

And none for me

Insomnia stabs

My aching body

Pleasure brings no repose

I’m too exhausted to sleep

I keep time on the exercise ball

I clean to break my body

I rest to learn to trust

But I resent to close my eyes

Or crack the spine

Of the Hours

The days

How many months have gone by this week?

Everyone’s hope makes me cry

Not a soul has seen my tears

I pine for the beauty of his cries

So many expectations for one so small

Already his name brands my soul

A part of me forever and I know him

Not

But doesn’t everyone have an idea

Of exactly who he ought to be?

In limbo, in purgatory, my identity

My baby isn’t born

I am still waiting.