With these fingers I can cup my child's face

***found this written down, resubmitted and edited

Every single moment of every single day
I convince my mind to carry on.
To begin is to try,
to try is to begin,
I live without crying,
crying attempts to control me.

My bed is a sanctuary,
in it I am free.
My dreams chase nightmares away,
I can be somebody.

The weight of my world is a cross I cannot carry,
dragging my hopes through fresh snow,
yet leaving no trace.
I have walked this path in my mind many times,
yet I see no way home.

A shovel is an object I yearn for....
metaphorically.
For I can dig a hole deep enough
to throw all my memories in,
then a little deeper,
to bury my dreams and desires.

Do I prefer this life as a walking carcass?
Will I ever wake from this head shafting demon?

But then.........

she finds me,
expectant, love filled eyes, a smile unforced.
In her eyes I am already a champion,
in her hall of fame,
a tear escapes me, it feels ashamed.
I look at my hands, my fingers.
With these I cup my child's face and kiss her forehead.

She has shown me the way, out of my minds jungle.
At least for the rest of today.