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battle of patience


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I don't feel protected

by the armor that I wear.

In a battle of patience,

nothing can shield me as well as

a second of composure--

something that, while under the trance of a heartbeat,

is impossible.

Or, at least, unattainable.

Prepared for combat,

I skip stones on a sea of illusions

while I ponder my next move.

Camouflage fading,

heart racing,

insecurities breaking,

I begin to run, shedding the armor

that once supported me.

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