A Helping Hand

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. 

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