I am not very strong
Or extraordinary smart
Have more quirks than I would like
I have a name that many have
A face in which many find themselves
Who am I to help you?

Often I can’t even help myself
Let alone understand.
I used to think of Mother Theresa with a blissfull smile whenever I wanted to help.
I would like to be as selfless as she is.
As devoted.
But I am not even that.
So tell me: Who am I to help you?

Do you even need me?
I don’t want to be needed.
I feel pressured to always to help
when I start with it.
It is like signing a quiet contract.
I am afraid of commitment, afraid to be taken up on my promises.
Who am I to help you?

Should I help you or should I wait till you ask me?
When you ask nicely or should I wait till you are screaming for help?
Should I open when you are knocking at the door or already when I hear your steps in front of the door, so you don’t have to show any weakness in front of me?
Should I go to your rescue when you don’t recognise yourself in the mirror?
Or do my concerns drop as soon as I stand next to you in front of the mirror.
In that moment when I can see that your eyes look like mine when they are afraid.
They have become so wide from the fear that you saw.
Even though you wanted to close your eyes, your body didn’t obey.
Just like my hands yours tremble,
When you want to take hold of something that seems impossible.
Just like me, you are muttering just scattered words of hopelessness,
Even when you can see the light from afar.
Like children we both believe,
That pain becomes real only when we express it.
We both want to be strong
but secretly feel weak, because we can’t grasp our strength in our weakness.
Who am I to help you?

I am not standing above you
Nor am I standing beneath you to help you.
Whenever I want to help it feels like I stretch my hand to get you next to me on the next step.
But do you even want to be standing on the stairs?
Do you want to see me looking down to you?
Who am I to look down to you?

Helping is for people who have something more than others.
But I rather feel like I have several pieces of the puzzle missing.
I am myself a searcher.

Then I look at you
Even when your stomach is rumbling you don’t ask for food.
I talk to you,
You don’t tell me what you need.
I walk with you,
You walk, even though your legs are trembling, because you have walked so much already to get here to me.
You are as proud as I am when I need help but actually would like to succeed alone.
To prove that I CAN. That I can stretch my hand to myself and get out of the swamp on my own.

The same red blood is running through your veins,
It boils over when it sees injustice or when you experience it.
Your eyes turn wet when you are very happy and also when you are grieving.
Your home is important to you, it is our base that we go back to
When we want to feel safe again.
I am YOU.
I am the hand that holds your hand, as you are getting yourself out of the swamp.
You are the hand that shows me who I am, as I am getting myself out of the swamp.

Funda Doğhan