Open Hands

Outstretched hands, fingers spread wide, palms up.
You can take my hands, hold my hands;
But you must first know, that while my hands are empty
(I have nothing of worth to give)
My heart is full. I have burdens.

Face lifted up, eyes closed,
Tasting, scenting:
Dreams, hopes and desires.

You may have me, my hands, my heart
But you must first take my pain, my hurt.
Here is my outward appearance:
Average, beautiful, ugly.
Here is my soul:
Childlike, old, naive, scared, trusting.
You can have it all, if you want,
But you must first look deeper.

Here is my closet.
The door is closed, but not locked.
Inside is a mess.
Old memories
Old hopes
Old pain.
I keep it close, keep it closed, lest it all come spilling out.

Here is my bookshelf.
On its shelves are my stories.
Some funny
Some sad
Some new
Some old
Some not yet written.

All of this I hold in one of my outstretched hands.
I want to give it to you.
In my other hand, I offer a pen.
You may take the pen and write my new story.
Create a new me,
With failures, sins, forgotten.
If you want me,
Take the old, make the new,
And hold my now empty hands - 
That I may know you are near.

Outstretched hands, fingers spread wide, plams up,
Holding onto you.