HOLDING OUT FOR YOU
BY Antonio Douglas
I’m holding my hand out to you.
Foolish as I once again put myself on the line.
Constantly ready for the sorrow, the disappointment.
It’s the fear of what will become of myself if I can’t receive your touch.
I’m holding my hand out to you. Bloody and dripping with regret for not committing to you sooner.
Now, my arms have grown heavy and tired. The joints and bones pop and crackle with every finger stretching toward you because they know as I do that they are reaching in the direction of perfection.
It’s me! I’m screaming it’s me!
Screaming at the top of my lungs.
Tears fill up the eyes with hope.
I’m holding my hand out to you.
Won’t you take it?
Won’t you look upon my face?
This face, sweating, waiting for you to decide.
I’m somehow keeping hope alive.
Still, breathing and I blow air into its cancer-dark lungs.
‘Keeping it in stable condition as if it was living inside me.
Standing right there where I would always claim I would be.
My feet growing numb and the tip of my toes,
Knees once used to keep these legs of mine strong now buckle under the weight of anticipation.
Making one last stand for you
I’m holding.
Always to you. Never to him, nor her. Nor them.
No.
I’m holding my hand out only to you.
