My Hands
My ten fingers
used to give birth to letters that created beautiful pieces which held so much pain, grew tired.Not so much sick and tired this time, but have just stopped to rest.
My two fingers
That used to hold countless cigarettes up to my lips as my oral fixation to keep my mouth closed from then endless questions I once asked myself…are no longer needed.
My four fingers
That used to hold up a glass to swallow away reality, are no longer used as frequent and used merely for socially purposes.
My one finger
That I used to hold up high and let it linger, for lack of a better statement, has found a better word.
My hands
That used to hold my head up from being sick and tired of trying, have folded.
In you I have found peace.
My once heavy-handed hands are now soft with grace,
they hold yours.
For its no longer me against the world. Fighting with my two bare hands.
Its us.
You and me against all odds.
My hands that became numb for all they’ve felt, are now sensitive to your touch.
My fingers intertwined with yours, make us whole.
For once I am not scared.
My hands are not defensive…they stray far away from my face,my guard down, not anticipating to be hit. But free, my face is free for you to see. For all my emotions are no longer stretched across a white sheet but they are written all over my face.
Just promise me you’ll read them carefully.
I am my own canvas.
Not this paper.
Not this pen.
Just me.
Im not constantly creating a picture or a blog not even a poem to make people understand.
I am the picture.
Its been created probably longer than ive ever known
im done with that, lets create a new story… all on our own.
