Be

I tried to let go of my hand
So she could be fully herself.
She struggled and struggled
Then began to exist.

As she was born,
As she laid there
On a plain paper bed,
What began as a stroke
Soon was begging for form.

Different shades. Same attitude.
I could do nothing but let them be.
Curved and similar.
Persistent crowd of strokes.

I despise them but let them strive
Against my judgement
Against my hate.

Take form. Be.