How long do I have to act like everything is okay,
Before everything actually feels, okay.
How long do I have to act like I am the only one,
Before I recognize that I’m not the only one.
It’s like I’m sitting underwater in a wave pool,
Holding my breath, looking like a fool.
To make matters worse, I open my eyes.
Through the drying pain, I see allies.
I’m not the only one under this turbulent water.
Others are “stuck,” able to escape the slaughter.
Yet we all sit, as the waves push us around.
We’re shoved against the walls, sitting on the ground.
When suddenly a hand falls down before me.
It grasps for mine, wanting to pull and make me free.
I grab it, and it rips me above the surface,
A hand with an unrelenting, and loving, purpose.
It’s soft, yet damaged by others who rejected it.
It has been scratched, grasped, and felt spit.
This hand could have stopped pulling others up,
Yet it continues to reach for those at the bottom of the cup.
My body feels something, and my lungs fill with air.
There is a new notion to not only see, but to care.
My legs feel weak, and want to sit, my mind agrees.
My heart fights this feeling, and somehow, succeeds.
Raised from the churning of this chaos,
Understanding both sides of the surface,
I can now be the hand, to others.
Everything will be okay.