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Just at the moment of despiration I hear the soft tones of a voice, breath brushing my neck and a presence behind me. I can fall into you forever and though I pretend you aren't there behind me sometimes, I find the error of my ways as you lend me that hand that I supposed so absent. I am unused to trusting completely. I used to fall and as I felt the crush of my own bones on an unforgiving plaster holding my weight then collapsing at that vital moment of life. You ask me for patience. I ask it in return. I am the epitome of strength. All lies, when I cry my tears back to the wall like a girl twice shamed. The pale of my skin touched with the scarlett letter of hurt. These wounds fade and we are left with a phantom limb. That limb so painful we cannot bear it alone, yet must so often. I have so much to share, and I tenatively find someone to hand small trinkets. Tiny wrapped packages of my soul. But a hesitation even the most innocent can cause my hand to tremble. Please don't see it. I exceed my own limits almost as sport. If you buy a ticket you too can be privy to the carnage games. I am She-Ra and also the most delicate sliver of a broken trinket. Just promise to hold the back of my bike tightly. I will pretend not to hear as your footsteps fade further and further into the distance.