FEAR ME: PATIENCE, OR THE ILLUSION OF STRENGTH

Patience is a girl I need to forget.

Patience, the virtue I could never truly prove,

The “smoking in bed” of benefits. I was always told in Sunday School that you could not rush these things, and yet the malaise I feel now is something less than clarity. Everything happens for a reason, I am told. A person dies, someone with a mother, a father, a brother, sister, son, fetus in fetu, hookworm, all caring for it. They die of a complication from surgery, or something. And this is what happens for a reason.

Dying a virgin, or dying a child or even worse, dying during childbirth, it’s all for a reason. I recall bleeding out during those first nights alone. You circling the drain, and all that I can hear from this old lady is hate from the language of gods. The book of forgiveness becoming a tome of broken vows.

God bless everyone that isn’t me.

We hate everyone equally. Stay out. You are not to be seen with me, we are genocide, extermination, assimilation, whatever. Fear me in the same way that you fear the night stalkers and rapists and thieves. I walk like sex with a stranger and the illusion of strength. I am a deceiver and I will do nothing but hurt you. This is all in the book.

Think of the vultures tearing these children limb from limb, think of rotting from the inside. Think of hate blocking out the sun. We are eclipse.

God, protect everyone except the damned.