Someone Put Your Hand Out — Kevin Tyrone McMillion Jr.

I give love grace For the pain it causes me, As it lies in the arms of another, Whispering sweet validations. I wish I could inherit its blindness, So I would not see it—just as it does not see me. But whether by divine mercy or punishment, I remain beholden; Thus I must endure this pressure within. I wish That it might choose me, Regardless of my scars— To gaze upon my weakness with gentleness, not mockery. Yet I walk this desolate plain As though marked by the curse of Cain, Wishing I could settle down And find love waiting for me. Have mercy on me in my time of strife; I beg for a taste of your sweetness. Fill my heart-shaped chalice, That my thirst might finally be quenched. My existence is that of Sisyphus— Aware of the futility of his calling. If I could conquer this mountain of dread, Perhaps the sadness would lift; Yet the vultures have torn me, limb from limb. Please—save what remains. I would lie upon any blade you choose, I would become the harp that serenades your ears— Only save me From the clutches of myself.