tools
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I believe we may have missed it
the year of reconciliation
The prospect of harmony, of order
Just a smidgen from symmetry
the precarious plane tipped
Dear hands,
Stop shaking stop picking.
I wish you'd be still and
Stop scratching stop flicking.
Listen,
I have these insecurities.
They’re not on the inside
Or maybe they are.
To cover these insecurities
I use a age old tool
To Hold.
To Feel.
To Write.
To Draw.
To Move.
To Clench.
Mine to Own,
Yours to Hold.
God’s best tool He’s given me.
Hands.
On the outside I'm strong
But on the inside I'm in Hell
I make subtle cries
But no one who notices will help
(poems go here) On the outside I'm strong
But on the inside I'm in Hell
I make subtle cries
But no one who notices will help
