I find myself reaching for the hands to hold me tight,
To comfort, to care, in the dark of the night.
It makes the days easier to approach and bear,
It stops me looking for things not there.
Sometimes the hands, they let me slip and fall,
Bouncing between emotions like a tennis ball.
Consistency sought and rarely found,
Weighs heavier on me pound by pound.
But the hands that let me fall can also pick me up,
Arrest my fall and embrace me in their cup.
Bring me out of the darkness and into the light,
Help me to see the reasons to stand and fight.
In the end it may well be that I must leave them behind,
Walk forward without support and face the grind.
Find a place of strength and confidence,
Fling caution to the wind, damn the consequence.