These Hands I Have

A poem I wrote.

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1. These Hands I Have

~~These hands I have.
They are what I have
and if I had nothing
I would still have them.
They tell stories.
The wrinkled roads, avenues, and highways,
All uniting my skin.
A small freckle sitting alone on my inner thumb.
It doesn't mind that it has no company.
It likes the freedom.
Scars appear at the places I've been harmed.
My hands are not innocent of this.
I have wounded,
Unintentionally
And just out of anger,
Just as others have.
My fingertips tremble,
Showing a new level of awareness.
Give them a new tool
And they'll find a gateway to a new freedom
that can only be shown as words.
But at points,
My hands have entangled with another.
Their touch always seemed more
Precious and wonderful
Than my own.
 

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