I'm in a trance
Staring at my hands, and everything they do
Everything they touch
Everything they feel
Everything they expirience
I'm sudenly shaken awake by the abnoxious clamoring of voices
You will never be a neurosuregon
And I say,
Because with these hands, I hope to change a life
And save one
But the only things I have regarded as tools
Or useful even,
I yearn to use in a rare way.
My hands and mind are different,
But posessing that responsibility,
A delicate life,
Like a neurosurgeon would,
Or even trading stocks
in the midst of chaos,
Are actions my hands could never handle.
Or aren't meant to do at least.
I know this when my hands
Become clammy and shake with fear
At the glance of threats
Or even the inevitable future
Regardless of the grandness of schemes.