Hive Ave Fall2024 - Flipbook - Page 36
Poetry
Hive Avenue Literary Journal
Reaching Out
Jenna Martinez
Around the time of my 2nd psych ward visit,
I would repeat the same few words to myself
over and over.
Worthless.
Unlovable.
Burden.
But sitting in that hospital common room,
you grabbed my hand.
You looked at me like I was something more
than the useless piece of shit I knew myself to be.
You spoke to me
like you cared about me.
In the darkest parts of both of our lives,
because you were there for the same reason as I,
you reached out to me.
You o昀昀ered me hope.
You held my hand
and assured me that we would make it through this.
Together.
You gave me your number
and they took it away.
I never talked to you or saw you again.
I don’t even remember your last name.
When I was admitted for the 3rd time,
somebody there mentioned you.
Knew you.
They said you were sent somewhere else,
that the Pavilion couldn’t do anymore to help you.
I hope you made it through.
I hope you are still alive.
I hope someone held your hand.
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