Child's Fingers

When I grasp my hands together tightly, fingers interlaced, they feel small. And fragile. I open them and raise them above my face. They have childlike proportions-very small, short fingers, though the long nails help them look older. They are a child's hands, a little girl grasping for attention. "Mommy, mommy!" As I look, I see my truest weakness and deepest desire-to be loved. I have only ever wanted to be loved, to feel cherished by those I care for so deeply. You'd never know though. I'm good at hiding what I feel. On the outside, I am collected, mature. But within, a child, desperately grasping at her loved ones, hoping for affection and not knowing how to show the love she feels. It's not very fair to expect so much and give so little-does that make me bad? No, I hope. Just young. Young and growing in a world that offers the opposite of what she needs. And though she has two Fathers to guide her, a mother, church leaders, still she rebels for the sake of love. But she is strong enough to end it when the one she gave all to turns out to not be what she needs. The pain is deep but she's growing, I hope. And maybe on the day when love isn't all her focus, she'll find it. She'll learn to really express it. She'll grow up. And though she'll always have a child's hands, at least she won't be a child inside.