“Patience is a virtue.”

Sometimes it's true,
Sometimes it's not.
We waited, remain patient,
But there are times
It'll never come.

A boy, aged eight
Asked his father a question.
"Was my birthdate,
The cause of your depression?"
The father only watched the boy
Which started to annoy
The child's thoughts
Like PTSD and gunshots.

A boy aged ten
Asked his mother the same question;
She said it was war, then
That it woke his inner aggression.
She said it probably took his soul
And one day again he'd be whole

A man aged eighteen's
asked a question by his parents
"Are you proud to have those genes?
And to be in our presence?"
He didn't have words to describe
The emotions he tried to hide.
He always sought recognition,
Not their judgemental superstition.
He wanted them to be proud,
But as expected, he bowed.

He left their presence, knowing:
That his entire life, he was growing.
To be able to handle the truth,
About his entire youth.
He was never adored or respected
His parents were to be represented
By him, and that was his goal;
NO! I Did not sell my soul

Your reputation, is not my responsibility
My future is
You can't accept that,
And I understand now.
It's time for me to leave,
This toxic representation
Of a Home

existing in this land-sphere quite touch-and-go
when you stare for something that you hope to
when something expects to be with you
until you discern that you obtained neither

things are unreachable on your own limitation
useless is your own notion
to gain nothing is the best way out that you ever made
the excitement is just filled with none nothingness but the soreness

It's a tradition, an old superstition
the night is hot
we'll go and do it
as soon as everyone is asleep
we sneak out of the house

leaving our husbands
as to take a ***

It is not far to the rock
with the flat stripe of white
In the light of the moon
we *** indeed
with laughter

while ******* for the picture
because we want to have proof

We slide our **** warm
over the pale stripe in the middle
of the Chilchliflue. Landed
in the grass, we feel
with each other

for the beginning
of a baby in our belly

~   using
our intelligence
to manipulate
people   ~

You step out into the world and its tendrils seek to entwine.
It takes away my hopes and all the dreams I once held as mine.

You are faced with expectations and choices so not of your own.
You come to think it not so bad when life is both empty and alone.

It becomes just easier to forget about hope and any form of dream.
Responsible to self and away from expectations endless scream.

You close the world outside behind your safeties solid door.
And give up on love and dream like clothes discarded on the floor.

You accept a life of little value and so too the feel it will never end.
All for reassurance outside consequence wont reach in to offend.

I write of being sad and lonely in many of the poems that I write.
But I am conscious, it is I who cast love and hope out into the night.

hand me that one—
To hold in hand,
whisper my heart
within its pores.
To share my whims:
dresses I wore
sometime long past.

I dare not peek
To peel its peel,
study the lines
upon its raw.
To see the same:
summers now soil
this time in palm.

You aren't entirely charmed to being whipped, if you don't take a moment to see what being merely "whipped" is even about. Showboating a charmed effect for something other than something else to "whip" itself back into shape! Lust! Ecstasy! All charmed effects without anything being whipped normally. When being whipped by a single charm defies ALL expectations for normal anticipations to fall prey to. Creating a very frustrating hypnotism functionality. Whilst also creating a very flustered trance that none can escape alone!