tho no one
likes
the un-airconditioned train
i still smile to myself
every time a new group enters
and makes the same
“awww, nahhh/no!”
when they realize
the car they’ve chosen
will only increase
the nyc heat
it’s the little moments that show —
we are more alike than we are different
i don’t know if i was born
with the patience gene fully turned on
or not,
but it has developed into something
i value greatly
in myself
however
because i don’t think of it as
a core marker/
a makeup of hj/
something that’s been with me
since that first day,
i often approach it as a skill —
something that needs practice/
cultivation/
that i can’t just rely upon —
and it often surprises me
when others thank me for my patience
when i’ve been feeling
so
at the end of my rope
i wish i could conceive of a me
who was always always always
patient without strain
touch gently
[with just one fingertip]
a whole life
with patience
with care
with love
with listening
with attention
with intention
and you’ll know what it is
to be
truly
human
and alive
there’s an ache
in old poems
that i think i’ve lost…
the words falling out of my brain
hold in them a pain
of trying to find some sort of connective
tissue
through
to others in this stupid experiment we call
human
existence
and what happens when everything becomes
happenstance
what becomes of the worlds words once i built
brick by brick
letter by letter
when the better /half/ of me
plays into capitalism
to make our lives a bit
stabler
i read old
lines
older
stanzas
and a common thread appears
a subtle but strong undercurrent
to understand and be understood
(and might i still have that
now?)
kipventures 