Sadness, which was once so foreign,
Now fits like a glove.
It has been oiled over the past few years.
It has been molded by disappointment,
Heartache, loss, and death.
My sadness follows me everywhere.
It leaves me naked,
I may wear my heart on my sleeve,
But it is sadness I greet the world with.
It is an unwelcome companion,
A friend thrust upon me without my consent.
The glove I wear has been oiled.
Oiled with the tears I have wiped away.
Oiled with hugs-
Given and received.
Oiled well the last day I held my father's hand.
And oiled every minute of everyday,
Since the news of my fates washed upon me.
I cannot shed this glove.
I cannot escape it.
My responsibility now is to learn to cope,
To live and understand this new journey.
Holding the hands of those who adorn my heart,
Who reach out to pick me up when I fall.
Those whose gloves are as newly formed as mine.
We forage along.
Fortunately, we do not have to walk this road alone.
I find the mate of my glove in those,
Who are also searching
For what I am trying to find.