Hopeful Hearts

My soul reaches out with open palms,

and a hopeful heart,

waiting for someone to recognize

the gentle shape of how I am built.

Not to change its edges

or ask it to become something easier to hold,

but to see the quiet light it has always carried,

and meet it with hands that never mistake softness for weakness.

To be known without making myself less,

and loved in the language I have always spoken.