Strong hands

Hands made to win

Hands made to break things

My hands, in all their glory

Once upon a time

I thought I was the strongest

That I could reach the top

Without looking around to the others

Around me

I’d pull them apart

To put myself together

Push them higher,

Just so I could rise above them

Pushed the ones I loved away

Because I thought them weaker

And await my turn, boiling hatred

To take the stage—

I’m not sure when I’d reached the cliff’s edge

Not sure, when I realized I was falling

It was only then, with the wind in my ears

I heard you calling

To me

Me, not my hands

Looking into my eyes

And not at what I could do

I realized that I had destroyed

So many in the wake of my own fear of fearing—

What’s left of me?

Am I good enough to get better?

Who’s left for me?

When I broke hearts on silver platters?

I claw at this cliff,

One, I realize, that I’ve been climbing

Among everyone else-

With everyone else

So then, what had I been seeing?

Feeling? Smelling? Listening to?

I try to see it the way you do

Watch you go, strong as me

Yet, not as burnt by the force of your tragedy

With hands, like mine

But saves instead, not enslaves

I want to see what more there is

To this reality

We live in

Show me

How to charge forward,

side by side with the lot of them

Wear the fear on my sleeve

Brave means to move despite it, you say

Not without it

I move, fiery burning

I’m trembling, we all are

And I wonder, not with jealousy

But with curiosity

If I’ll ever be able to reach where you stand

With these hands