Hands

People have hands
Large or small
Rough or smooth

The one I remember,
The person I could rely on the most
Grandma's hands

They were shriveled up yet
They were full of warmth
Upon which no one could give me

There was a ray of light and love
Just a ray of it
Nothing more

After she went to the heavens
Nobody was with me
Felt that despair and hate
Smiling at my own self
Full of hatred

These hands tainted with my own comparison
Owning myself to my mistakes and failures

I get my canvas and draw on it
These hands move by themselves
A monster was created
With these hands