This is dedicated to all the hands. You know who you are.
There is a reticence in me; I hold back.
I was not born this way,
The wild fearless part of me was taught
I saw the abyss, the dark yawning void.
It reached out and welcomed me.
Its caressing echo beckoned me.
At the moment I was acquiescing to the pull,
Hands grasped me
By the arm, by the hair
by the heart, dead thing that it was, and pulled me back.
They held on for my life.
It lamented the loss of me
I lamented the loss of nothingness.
On that edge, I felt the weight, the pain, the terror of everything that had driven me to
I despaired of ever being free.
I wanted to jump.
Hands all around me,
They were strong when I was not.
They held me when I couldn't.
They were hope when I had none.
I lay there drowning, in pain,
...and slowly, slowly
Something began to rise, grow,
pierce its tender shoot out of my fallow heart.
It was Hope
And it became stronger.
None of the previous cheap, false hope, this was not plastic,
But a living thing.
It broke through the hardened surface and, like green things do,
Restored by destroying.
And now, I hope.