I’m patient.

I try to be.

I’m patient with everyone else

just not me.

The clothes don’t fit,

hanging in my wardrobe.

You used to be fit –

where did it go?

When did you give up

on yourself?

Why does everyone else

get all your love

and all your care?

Yet you save your criticism

just for you.

A daily gift

of guilt and shame.

It’s tiring.

I’ll try harder

tomorrow.