I was told at one point, a whisper over my shoulder, “Be patient, but be persistent.”
It was the father of my first crush at 16 who told me that. I was young; I was open to love and to pursuing my first girlfriend.
She was all I thought about. I wanted to impress her. I wanted to know that she could be mine.
No matter how long I wait, she will always be ahead of me.
Like a great divide, I stand in the doorway, unable to walk through the door.
I closed the door this time, unable to share my love with her, anyone, or myself.
These days I lie there, silent in my bed, my head wondering: how did I get here?
Instead of love inverted, all my mind is filled with disappointment.
How could you? Why did you? What were you thinking?
Questions reverberated over and over again.
Barnaby, the moment won’t last. The Crown Royal will eventually leave your system. That cigarette will run out. The sleep you look forward to will eventually be interrupted.
Today, I see myself as a person. Before, a monster, but now a weak person.
It would be easy to say, “I hate myself.”
But let me put it into pictures.
The hate I feel is like rolling in mud and settling that no matter how clean I get, I’m still a pig.
My identity is like a homeless person begging for a dollar, so he can buy a loose cigarette for a momentary pleasure.
That cigarette is the escape from the tragic events that have taken place in my life.
From getting kicked out of school, to my parents divorcing, to getting a tooth knocked out after an assault in a mental hospital.
This is a part of my story. I survived, but I have the scars.
My scars write these words. They tell the story of a man who survived the worst, like his sister’s murder or his father’s death.
They tell a story of a child told he was never good enough, bullied in school, or trying to impress the grown-ups in his life.
All of that led him here today, sitting in his room writing a poem about whether he would be patient and persistent.
Is it pain? Is it sorrow? Is it hate?
Are all these questions the answer to my hurt?
The words, “Be patient, but be persistent,” circle again and again.
But what if I have been patient, and what has been paid for my persistence?
Keep going, don’t stop, never give up, and don’t be so hard on yourself.
She will come. Keep working on yourself.
That’s the other voice within me, the keeper.
The keeper keeps me safe.