Spoken Word: Patience, My Child

I’m waiting patiently
by the intersection
planted onto cold,
wet marble stone,
baring more bone
than hypocrisy

it’s dizzying,
revolving through the zones
neglecting my phone
when my mind’s too gone
couldn’t tell you what was wrong
because my crutch sits right
by my clutch and I’m tight
from staying up three too many nights
dwindling while my morals fight,
wondering if could I get that life
with my palms clasped tight

because chances,
come through too swiftly,
ever holy,
prophecies in no big hurry
but my fusses flurry

waiting, I know it’s coming
after I hear it one mo’ ‘gain
after it sweeps and creeps
up my street one mo’ gain
after it wets my apartment,
just tap the door one mo’ gain
I need to breathe, I seethe
preconceiving my own demise,
but I want to be infinite,
that’s why I spit it out
before it consumes me
from the inside-out

it’s closing the distance,
my resistance
gave a long time ago
as a model witness
testifying to that drive by
that only shoots me down
when I’ve got something to hide
and I can only define that stride
through rhymes
that happen to breeze by
after I’ve kept my time
mounting the cold
because it’s one of few
that withholds nothing
from my closure

– B. Brown