patience.
i brew this
quality in my blood,
let it mix
with the sweat
lining my palms,
and the overproduction
of saliva in my mouth;
i do not
cry.
i must remind myself
to open these clenched fists and breathe—
in and out,
in and out.
patience. patience.
it is what
composes my
temper, my anger, my sadness;
i tell myself to be
patient.
i will not cry.
i am tired of crying.
(these tears fall anyway)
ŞİMDİ OKUDUĞUN
Miscontrued Sentences
ŞiirNo one can understand yourself better than you. But we can all relate to the feelings that are often miscontrued by media, language, and everything in between. This is my ode to poetry, to the sad, the lonely, to everyone, and to myself.
