These Hands Of Mine

These hands of mine Carry the burden given by us all The labor of surviving in the wild concrete jungle Demonstrates itself in the form of sweat trickling Pores widening, opening itself up to the world Bloody tears plops onto those hardened, callused and miraculous hands Scheming to drink those tears- the only source of water left Hesitates, but first makes a plan To stop those tears from escaping the grasp of his cracked round and coiled fingers Cups his hand as Satisfaction is won Those crusty lips only got crustier, but he didn't care As his mind was doped into a mirage while working Imagining his fingers to look like corn cobs and his red plush palms To resemble that of a sweet, plump tomato Looking into the mirror, what exactly did he see? He wished knew who the handsome young man was Anyways, he remembered a quote he read and memorized A quote that to this day has always evaded him "Regardless humans alike including myself have a conscience that proves too strong or too weak, but real strength is not measured by virtue or vice" Standing with ears perched on the heavy smog He accepted this quote as his motto meekly