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Kind Hands.

From my bias,
perhaps blind position,
it seems some are born
into this world
with their hands
on the reigns,

saddled up, riding
this wild reality.

Is that just
what I tell myself?
Am I just displaying
a lack of understanding,
failing to recognize
the great effort
they’ve invested?

I fail to feel it in me,
this latent potentiality.
Too long have I failed
to adapt to this.

Seems they can handle
anything. Guides to
and rescuers
of those of us who never
seem to know up
from down, our ass
from a hole
in the ground.

I seem to gain
some ground till
it suddenly falls away, so I
swallow pride, curse
this way of life, send out
an SOS again.

Feeling that I hardly
deserve the friends
I have, taking
without giving, reaching out
only when I constantly
need it.

Lift me up, help me down,
kind hands.
Throw me a life line, for
I’ve managed to fashion
my own into a noose again.

How have I not died
from all my falling
and swinging?
How do I manage to keep
the friends I have?


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