Hands

This poem was inspired by Sarah Kay's poem of the same title, I felt it would be a good exercise to tackle the same subject she did.

these hands paint pictures of an uncensored image of a man of much adventure
as if I feel that LA is somewhere that I would rather be more than here
i act that I constructed the hollywood sign myself with my soft pale hands
but i lend these hands to no one, these are selfish hands
these are hands that secretly seek suburban solace
these hands have never felt the earth or felt her tremor at the sight of a thinner sky
these hands seek to embrace the handles of suburban security houses that protect me from all the sinners and all the tears we cry
but my hands are for pencils, brushes, keypads and notes
they are for holding purses and writing the words you spoke
they are for holding useless things that create a communication mess

speaking of which

 this device in my hand? well this and others like it has become our only window to reality, I can add, subtract, divide and multiply my friendship count while keeping time calculating... I even think this thing can cook me eggs and sing me songs of better dawns because this struggle can't last for long

because now my hands are tough, they have scars, they've laid down the bricks and mortar of human change, they construct foundations for a better human condition, they write these words down, hoping for the change we all can believe in

these are my hands, now let's see what you can do with yours

Author's Note

ignore grammar