I was planted in the pleasure of your prose.
It was there you watered me and helped me to grow.
More than doubled my potential.
Settled my ego.
Backed into a wall painted in truth.
The truth I couldn’t hold on to.
How do I trust this helping hand that pushed me out and left me stranded?
How do I trust this helping hand that belayed me once and walked away?
How do I trust this helping hand, blessed with words of pixie dust and Father Time’s sand.
Leave me be. Let me live.
My body’s worn from this deliverance.