Born into this life with a clenched fist,
unable to fathom why I never had what I already missed.
Raised to believe that the policy which was best,
was keeping my cards close to my chest.

Like a bud my hand began to flower,
but as hurt dealt its hand to my former self I'd cower.
In the belief that my heart it'd protect,
yet this just aided me to lose my own respect.

In time my mind would open as did my hand,
as it was rejected I failed to understand.
Why I never found another who'd want to hold,
my part of anatomy that felt so cold?

Always thought cold hands warm heart was what they'd say,
so why was I profusely pushed away?
Punished for something that wasn't my fault,
as the ones I loved into my wounds rubbed salt.

Marvelling in my hurt as my life they'd stain,
but just as I was born I'd come out fighting again.
Refusing to just wither and die,
opening my clench fist I give it one more try.

Now that I've reached in I am able to reach out,
as my hesitant fist begins to sprout.
Every doubt and fear I leave in a barren land,
now that the time is right to HOLD OUT MY HAND!!

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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