Here is my heart on my sleeve:
treat it gently, please.
My mind and history are behind,
screaming to accept its defeat.
Sometimes all the energy I have,
is for standing on my own feet.
But I have decided to wear it there,
even if it drains me of durability.
I am beginning to walk again,
swaying in vulnerability.
Be kind to me:
I am learning to trust again,
to reach my hands before me,
when I stumble in pain.
No longer in order to brace my falling,
but because I am hoping- you see-
than when I inevitably do,
there will be someone to hold me.