Inadequate

How can patience be measured?

If it is through the  number of times you kept silent even when you are lied to, then perhaps I have been patient.

If it is through the tens of times you know, deep in your heart, that you are being played and manipulated, yet you say nothing, close your eyes and push back the tears, then perhaps I have been patient.

If is through the hundreds of times you hold you hand out to help, left unappreciated by those who should, yet try to make others understand how it feels to be alone and shunned despite of, you get a shrug in reply and you are told, let it pass, then perhaps I have been patient.

If is through the thousand of times you have tried to be a better in acknowledgement of your faults and weaknesses, yet still seen as undeserving of respect, then perhaps I have been patient.

If it is through the millions of times you love and give, and love and give, and love and give, yet at the end of each day, you feel inadequate, then perhaps I have been patient.

I guess I have been patient. Yet I feel inadequate.