They warned me to watch for my hands because I might cut them picking up the broken pieces of others. They warned me to watch for my eyes because after seeing their problems my sight would lose all it’s colours.
I believed good people were like candles as they’d burn themselves out to give others light I believed good people were like the dark of the night as they'd be there to help the stars shine bright
My hands may be criss crossed with cuts and scars, my eyesight dim, and in need of glasses my body may be patched and riddled with burn marks and I may have fallen into the depths of darkness
So often I believed that no one was there to help the helper
It was hard, and the map of 3rd degree burns and nicks are a testament to my journey, my daily crucifix But I think I’ve found the balance, the fine fine line between madness and sanity. Between helping others and myself
I’ve learnt to shine brightly for others like the moon, both light and dark whilst not setting myself on fire and still allowing others to shine stark
My eyes still see the wonder in the world, my hands still craft joy, still tinker with happiness. To you my friend, if you're anything like me, know it's all worth it, and you will be helped, you will be found.
It's all a matter of perspective. It's also ok to reach out.
Yes, I was born a helper, the Elf, Though thanks were left on the shelf, Buddy the Elf is no fighter, Smiling in peace makes us lighter, Helpers find solutions, you see, I am nice to people so nasty, All I can say is, "Good for me!"
step right up to this broken machine she'll take anyone look at this queen she's shiny and new with smiles so bright every step she takes is light her colours are more than a rainbow can boast she has more than any she has the most they drift in the wind and fall from her fingers her joy is infectious she's contentment's dead ringer
this machine never stops that's why its so popular people will travel far there is no other none so dedicated to her job as this she's a volunteer so surely she loves it but a crisis strikes every once in a while the machine won't admit it, she's in denial but her colour store is personally supplied if she told you it's abundant, surely she lied
this machine has colours she enjoys sparing but to spend her whole life as this machine is daring machines must be turned off must be unplugged this machine never does because help is her drug she goes and she goes until she overheats her colours start melting they run through the streets these runaway colours are scooped up and scrounged meanwhile the machine is left on the ground she rusts while it rains, there on the ground
no regard for the girl whose rainbow seems to be gone look how she lays so curled up and crying but not from her loss crying because her aid is the cost with no regard for herself she whispers "if I take a break, look at who suffers" but the rainbow too must be regrown it can only take time and care and sweet tones encouraging words to let her know she's not alone, she will never be thrown from this world with contempt because love exists but love may not always come to you free sometimes there is just one fee it isn't much... just to ask
I have read the poem you wrote for me late at night hundreds of times. I read it when my mind is constantly doubting itself. I read it when my eye sockets are continuously flowing waterfalls and I've been drained of my confidence. I read it when I need it.
You see those little poetic words created by a beautiful mind are my reminders that I'm strong. That this life is not as bad as it seems. That I have what it takes.
When looking into your eyes I see a healer. Somebody who fixes wounds with words. A kid at heart who fixes minds with short phrases because he is to scared to encounter his own. A healer who needs healing.
I'd like to thank you. For creating a boost of confidence for me. A beautiful piece of art that'll live in my head for years to come. Something I can go back to without worrying it'll be gone when I get there.
I hope you find someone who can give you what you gave me. Because I believe you need it too. A boost of confidence that'll never fade.
What do I know about what has been taken from me? It is dangerous any more at this age to sleep for very long, as I may awake not even recognizing myself.
Some part of me leaves without my permission, departs into its own journey each night-- perhaps into the stars. What is left open in the empty space where I have been ribbed and robbed? It appears as a widening of flesh that seems to resist closing, a sacred wound from on high places, carved with a determined and prosperous hand.
What returns to me? How it arrives is the same amount of mystery that was taken.
I see someone beside me, outside of me, who requests that we be added to each other-- a blend that only much deep sleep can provide.
This has come to me for help; to help with what I once thought I needed and for what I knew had been taken from me. Now it is apart from me and stands beside me, I awake with the pain of a blessed departure that has stirred inside of me.