Hope, Becomes Her.


  • intransitive verb
  • 1
: to cherish a desire with anticipation <hopes for a promotion>
  • 2
archaic : trust
  • transitive verb
  • 1
: to desire with expectation of obtainment

:  to expect with confidence :  trust



The small, rare word in

structured dictionaries

purely defined

by our personal relationship to Her.

She clings to us like an adhesion

during times of struggle;

 struggle long enough,

She becomes the adhesion.

For some,

Hope, is

the little dream they have

blindly gripped,

believing deep inside

that life cannot be complete

until their little dream


becomes BIG reality.

Fantastical Dreamers that they are,

quietly contrasting romance movies

to their uneventful Tinder dates,

secretly creeping self-help sections of bookstores,

fondly thumbing through

astrology manuals lining shelves at home,

‘Are we a match?…’

‘is he the One…?’

Fashion magazines upon toilets cluttered with

smelly things,

make-up things,

hair things,

transformative things,

for selfies taken in filtered abundance,

to be thrown into the wild,

with the Hope,

that he may catch one,

like what he sees,

and stick to their sides

in a smiling “US” selfie.

Someday, the Dreamers

may be cruelly awakened

to the truth

that Hope is an adhesion

that binds to your heart

during dark hours,

hours of no sleep,

hours of weeping,

hours of fear.

It is Her adhesive will

that propels you forward

in darkness,

gently binds your wounds,

turns your head toward

a pinhole of light

you otherwise would have missed.

Hope, speaks calmly

in your ear,

“it’s ok. This too shall pass…”

She never becomes scar tissue.

If allowed,

She will strengthen,



She will dissolve like ash,

leaving you to fall

into your self-made urn.


She always allows a choice:

Of belief.

Of perception.

Or, denial.

The choice is yours.

Yours only.

A million little huge ways that

She has been Tried.

And, True.

It is in Her trial,

Her Court,

that we step from a place of

simply cherishing our desires,

to molding simple,



with raw, aching hands.

We move from wishing

to take the hottest selfie,

from longingly yearning

to find that perfect “soulmate”

who will “complete us,”

to awakening

with courage,

to face the day,

to face

the reflection in the mirror.

We step from a place of desire,

to a place of abandonment,


to the adhesions

that bind.


when finally unraveled,

our truest beauty is revealed like a light.

Mere pinhole, perhaps-


a pure light,

for someone else just beginning

their transition

from ceaseless






we awaken the

Woman within.


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