[heldinhishands]

it's the day for lovers!!!! i spent my morning looking through my camera roll, surely there was a couple memories of the year so far, but the quiet was a dark emptiness i had to swim through. if life ebbs and flows, i am ebbing, most painfully. im desperate to call something from god, you know when a puzzle fits so perfect, you're aback in awe at the miracle, you think, im here for a reason and it's for this moment. everything i own has the claw marks from a scorned woman who never got her dreams, who declares bitter justice at the hoard. this finale of a decade is ringing every morning, i've walked to the beat of time since i turned 23, never quite felt like ive landed, a tinnitus on my bones, look at how life moves on while im here, ebbing i mean shedding i mean writing about the weight, like loving will do anything to fix it. then again, i slept on the couch with a cat who won't get off me, every time i nudge her, she stares at me until im ready for her to find a spot again. she's not afraid of reaching, no matter how many times i've pushed her off. here she comes, hands gentle, ready to claim her spot, like a perfect fit.

[heldinhishands]

christmas felt different this year but the magic finds a way in, through mom always forgetting at least one present and dad looking at the baby to say he has all the gifts he needs. the magic is in spending christmas eve baking dessert boxes, which took four listens of the Tortured Poets anthology. im nothing if not a tortured poet. there is a hyper awareness of all that's been lost, when I realize I won't get to message her merry christmas like I've done for 15 years, or when I sit to watch the football game and it hits me, this is where daddad would've been. but the light creeps in when we gather around my nanny's room, or when I get the right game for my nephew. how my niece perfectly wraps her presents. when a new friend wishes me a merry christmas. after all this time, with all the space this ache takes up, I'm still shocked when I'm noticed.

[heldinhishands]

I feel God most when I’m creating.

When I crochet a square and

miss five stitches.

When my mind is roaring with words.

When the poem uses no special vocabulary.

I'm holy when I'm laughing.

When I'm brave.

When my sleeve carries my heart

and lungs and all the color

I see when my niece's smile at me.

I'm in hell at church.

Or at my first funeral

where I heard threats on my spirit

with a loving man in a casket.

I know God in how I speak to the least of these.

And God will know me in all of the ways

I keep my hands busy.

[heldinhishands]

I dream about being worthy

like a delusional lifeline

sure, there hasn't been a time

when a man touched me and

I didn't cry, but when I

temper tantrum my way

into the pillow talk

of ingenuine whispers that

keep me swaying in fiction

his talking shakes my body

like phantom laughter

and I can convince myself

of the medicine

in this skin to skin

now, I don't know anyone

at these parties

because I'm too angry for

my old community

and I haven't known

how to connect

since I lost the god

who made me perfect

so I know no one everywhere I go

and I cry in his bed

because I'm the angel in hell's center

too pure to understand

what they're laughing about

too ruined for anything

better than him.

[heldinhishands]

11/3/2025

I don't need a body that bounces back. I've had one of my hardest years yet, and what I want is for my heart to learn how to stay gentle as it mends. I want to go on a hike that burns and reveals a gorgeous view. I want to kiss more people and submit to the passion. Just as a landmark is celebrated for the mountains and lakes and edges of earth that speak of its history, I hold my body in reverence for all she's been put through. Maybe there is another world where this grief didn't choose me, but in this one, I refuse to turn to stone. It doesn't matter that the spikes point at the blood on my sleeve, I will always be a safe landing.

[heldinhishands]

so if i screamed my heart out

would you finally hear it

would the mess and blood

catch your attention

more than worship ever could

i swore oaths no child ever should

in the name of flames

that claimed to be good

i was a blank slate, you know

an empty canvas begging for

your touch of wisdom, of color

i remember one night

my small body shook

i had dreamt the sun of heaven

it burned through me

and i was joyful

i dreamt it

[heldinhishands]

love is all around me

like a whispered promise

i accept her gracious hand

in the form of my niece's

laughter, or patience

for my mother, or the extra

time in homemade cookies.

i'm not proud of it, but i

still keep the porchlight on

just in case he stops by.

either way, i'm on the patio

watching the fireflies dance

until i feel 10 again,

where living is infinite,

i'm just this small little thing

and not aware of it.

nothing matters but the

lights in the backyard

and the plans dad has for dinner.

love is all around me

like a whispered promise,

and she feels like an innocence

i used to know.

[heldinhishands]

moments are so fleeting, sand in my hands, I swear I'm trying to hold on, to savor, but time has never made a friend out of me. in an attempt to remind myself of my growth, I'm on a writing trip to reflect. today, I read my old journals from 2018-2020, this was a difficult phase of different jobs, questions, feeling lost, the weight of time introduced itself then. but it was all in the shadows of this genuine faith that made mole hills out of mountains. I wish I could tell her everything she feared came true. she was right, we didn't find a purpose or a career, we didn't experience romantic love, we didn't become thinly beautiful, or do anything with our theatre degree. every fear that was so debilitating happened - and I have never been happier. I wish she could know that, I grieve for her, I thought I would hate myself as I read the pages, but I love this girl. she was dramatic and sensitive and emotional. she was strange, and also the only reason I am here as I am. no one understands her, but I celebrate her every time I dream, every time I date, every time I say nice things about my body. I am only me because that weird girl was so brave, and I don't hate her, not at all, not one bit.

[heldinhishands]

it never fails, i find my way back here.

my inner child cowering and stealing glances

to check if the coast is clear. i want to tell her,

it's just my shadow, don't be afraid,

it's just my shadow, the monsters are gone,

they're just my shadows, you're safe now,

it's just our shadows, no need to hide,

please, don't make this a habit you can't break,

just one foot and then another, a brave face

for the mirror, trust me, this is not a

lesson to save for later, if you could try,

take up some space, free me of the facade

that swears i'm more capable, deviate

the timeline, paradox us until i'm swallowed

whole, never here, never having to master

the darkness that still makes me tremble.

[heldinhishands]

this year has been loss after loss but i barely feel it when i know what it's like to lose a god. i grab the rope to be pulled to safety and it rips in my hands, and my feet find a ledge to hold me still but the board caves in, so now the water is cold but i have enough experience with ice in my chest so holding my breath isn't much different. but i can't see very well, so maybe if i play dead for some sweet release, my weight will rise to the surface. and now i feel the sun and i am alive but none of it matters when i dont have stable ground to live on. i woke up this morning and my first thought was a prayer, i wish you were real, i said, i can't believe i have to feel sun every day of my life and hold my own body for survival to nowhere. no one warns you of this when the spirit is washed, the prison of your mind, the void is as vast as he was mighty and every other loss is just a broken ledge in comparison.

[heldinhishands]

I wish I could go back

tell her we survive

we flee the friend

with words of ice

and finally let go

of the one we wanted

we find the miracle too

we survive it - is that life

always surprised we make it

wishing we could've

known sooner

then another wave rises

crashes the shore

but once again, we swim on

- christina hopp

[heldinhishands]

the bright of the sun haunts

my safe spaces.

what do I know of grief

as the mother in Gaza weeps?

what do I know of wounds

when each bruise has been

poked, prodded?

injustices flood the memory,

some may never be named.

you know, just yesterday,

I had so much rage in my car.

my hair was freshly done,

curled and red and soft and

clean and scented with a mix

of vanilla and conditioner,

and it was pouring outside.

I didn't have a jacket.

I almost cried.

what do I know of hope?

as I lay excited to sleep

to the sound of thunder

outside my window.

- christina hopp

[heldinhishands]

The lover in me still begs to be chosen with clawed grief, and it's like I've forgotten. As though my friend doesn't cook meals she'd think I'd like, or mom doesn't book a vacation at my favorite spot, or my roommate isn't sensitive to the volume of her music on a saturday morning. As though the men who barely know me at pool didn't give me a giftcard when my daddad passed, and the toughest one there didn't take time during his smoke break to tell me how much better my game has been. you can't quit now, he said, everyone can see it. aching to be noticed as though my sister doesn't listen well when I tell her about the dating scene, as though my baby niece doesn't smile when she sees me. As though love doesn't come in many forms, in the ways I speak about my body, my life, my timeline, with gentleness, with grace, with understanding, patience, perspective, with vulnerability, this is right here, there is no need to grovel on my knees, it's happening, right now, in the older woman who was raving about my tattoo, she lifted my arm, showed her friend, her other friend, her daughter, a random stranger passing by. it's just so neat, she said as her hand touched the words carved in my skin, 'hopeless romantic', it's just so beautiful.

[heldinhishands]

tw /

there was a time when I had no idea my photos were syncing. I thought I was in the clear, a moment of weakness that lasted a year, and when I deleted the evidence, my hands were clean. god knows what's hiding in the backup, and so do I, as of tonight when I accidentally stumbled upon the shadow of my 20s. and I wish it was drunk videos and sexy photos for a special someone, but really, it's back to back videos of me, dead pan and fully clothed, checking how wide I am that day. it was methodical, strategic. if I could run 250 minutes before the next time I was with him, that was 250 minutes thinner than I was 5 days ago. and I'm desperately scrolling the months, looking for a belly laugh, a good meal, friends, a sunset, a blurry attempt at the moon, and then I start to scroll my mind, think, what happened then, what books was I reading? was I writing? oh right, my poems were about begging to be beautiful. did I make any friends, did I try anything new? did I have vulnerable talks, did I exist at all? I'm racking my brain for one piece of a memory, and I have it, one scene that haunts me to this day whenever I open the door, and it was when he didn't want me. it was all for nothing, the energy I wasted, the skipped dinners, the second run at 11pm. the hungriest version of me still wasn't pretty enough. but it's funny because I also remember, after the devestating pill to swallow of being undesirable, was the most relieving breath in not having to try anymore. I could just be. and I'm scrolling through the current years and see so much color and smiles and new places I've been while my body takes up more space. I take photos to remember the day, or because my hair is red and my nails are done, or because my skin is touching a summer day and I'm feeling extra whimsical. I take photos because my life is filled with hobbies and friends and food because eating is actually a big part of community. but never is the goal to be chosen, that ship has long since sailed, and I really swear, it tastes like freedom.

[heldinhishands]

I love the same as I grieve,

with fists full of grass and waiting

extra precious minutes

just in case

until I'm forced into a dimension

where you don't exist.

And when the dust settles,

I'll still be praying,

as if I believe in miracles.

I know they're hard to come by

but if there was a chance

in any one of these lives,

please, let it be this one.

I still send please prayers to God,

after all that deconstruction,

because that's how I love.

Oh, how I grieve.

Oh, how I love.

[heldinhishands]

You can't tell, but I'm nursing a drink to seem busy

and I've learned the art of eavesdropping

through 40 feet of loud music.

Not sure what words are said half the time,

but at least I know where your attention is.

That's about all the magic I can work,

hope your skin is prickling

by the touch of my desperation

before I drive home with a warmth

in my chest that burns.

I've never been able to stoke it,

it leaves a mark, I curse the sky, you continue on.

At the end of the day, I'm still the same girl

I was at 18, shaking in his passenger seat

but laughing has hard as I can

so he won't notice I'm new to this.

[heldinhishands]

Tired out.

The knot in my chest

only loosens it's grip

when the rum warms my mouth,

and with it, my will, my blood,

and I think,

I hope empathy

grows from this.

I hope the torture finds it's purpose,

a place to land

and cultivate.

Oh, there it is.

The stubborn flame.

The hope always poking a hole

in the walls, forcing the

light in.

Hope that there

is meaning,

that I am seen by something

that has a kindness.