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