if these hands could talk

If these hands could talk, they wouldn’t stop.
They would tell you stories of the past.
These hands would teach you lessons
of hard work and perseverance. These hands
would just because they could. All the scars,
callasses, bruises, and creases show others
that life is a long, winding road that eventually
ends. I can’t pretend that it has been easy.
But, if it were easy, what would it teach me?
These hands would tell you that it will be
okay. You will move on and see a new day.
If these hands could talk, you would understand
that I have gone to war, but came out alive.
Yes, these hands would tell you that I survived.
In this life, these hands have been wet, burned,
bloodied, hurt, and disregarded. But these hands
would tell you that we are just getting started.
If these hands could talk, they would scream:
“Hold me as I long for touch and acceptance”.
They would talk just to talk just like feet walk.

Reflection 2.0

I walk past a mirror,
and I stop in my tracks.
I look deep into my own
eyes and see a boy who
does what he can, a boy
making it work, despite
the absence of light.
I look into my eyes and
see a boy looking for
answers to impossible
questions. I am looking
at a boy doing his best
to remedy devastation.
I can’t tell if I am seeing
my own reflection or
that my reflection is
seeing me. I look a few
moments longer, studying
my face and its history.
There is a story to be told
in each smile and frown.
Before I break my gaze,
I remember all my days.
I wave to my reflection
and walk away from
the mirror, knowing
I have nothing to fear.

The Bookcase

My bookcase has books about stories –
stories about things – things people wrote.
Each book contains different moments
in time that defines a person’s mind.
Each page is a look into what has taken
place. My bookcase is full of life. I need
these stories to read to be set free.