ever since I was younger, my mother always told me that patience was a virtue. however, my mother doesn't understand that patience is near impossible whenever you feel you're buried alive, alone in the dark while every breath you take leads you to your death. my mother doesn't understand the feeling of seeing the man you love more than you love yourself leave with another woman, who is twice as beautiful as you could ever be. my mother doesn't understand that patience could never be achieved in my life tragedy after tragedy, love after lust, the entire world falling apart in my hands as I realize I am the destroyer. patience isn't a virtue. patience is an absolute miracle.
YOU ARE READING
emotionally unstable ; a poem book
Poetrythese are poems about my life, which kinda sucks. if you steal of them I might hunt you down. ttyl love you.
