i do not have the patience of a god,
yet i find myself waiting yet again.

i do not have the patience of a god,
but when you return with tears in your eyes,
my arms are open wide—
heart willing, though it aches again—
ready to hold you close once more.

i do not have the patience of a god, no,
but i do think i have the patience of a flower.

i do not think you notice,
too busy in your own mind.
for once, i was a blooming daisy,
so welcoming, so bright—
day after day. week after week.

i do not think you saw me,
for the lily petals that once were brilliant
had curled and wrinkled into an ugly shade of brown,
and the daffodil petals scatter on the ground,
leaving nothing but a twisted, wilted stem.

i do not think i have the patience of a god,
though i think i was given a heart like a god.  
for i still love you, painfully,
like thorns on a rose.

and though i may have a love like a god,
the rest of me is still
so stupidly human.

please don’t come back this time.

though if you do,
i will open my arms again.