Hope is such a gift to me. I wish I didn’t hope. I wish I didn’t have it even in the face of the disturbing things going on in my life. I fear hope at times. It grabs me by my soul and gives me dreams of things I long for. It torments and twists my soul in an excruciating manner as in a game of cat and mouse. I am the one it tortures and I am the one it kills. I wish I would stop hoping. I wish I would stop dreaming. I wish I would stop wanting. I hope so much. I dream so much. I want so much. But 1 or none ever in my reach. Even in the midst of my hope I am plagued by reason and beaten down by doubt. Reason for how will things change when I can’t change how things are or can’t change how someone treats me when intent on destroying me for unjustifiable emotions on their part. Doubt for how will things get better were I am even in the face of me trying to be strong. My dream created my prayer, the utterance of my prayers manifested my dream, my dream after so many years came true and my choice of that dream led me here because I had hope and still have hope. But what good is hope when I am plagued by reason and beaten down by doubt. Hope is a hurtful emotion. A hurtful emotion indeed to me. How many times have I hoped only to have myself or some other person dash it. I fail myself in my hope. Others kill me for my hope. I don’t think there ever was a time when I truly enjoyed the fulfillment of my hope to it’s fullest. Suffer I do for hope. Suffer I do for the light inside me. Difficult it is to bear the presence of those bitter in their own lives, bitter to such an extent the only way they see is to hurt me, to dash my hope. How can I give up my gift. How can I give up hope. For to give up on hope is to give up on my humanity. How can I give up my light. A light which seemingly attracts darkness. A light which seemingly turns on itself. Destroying itself. Eating itself alive. How can I be without the other. Hope, hope is a gift. My gift. And seemingly my end.