Two fingers on my right hand
The hand I use to write
The fingers my friends hold
in their hands tight
With nails my mom paints
glittery and bright
These fingers know
where they end up at night.
Fingertips that have run
through boys’ soft hair
My fingertips that create
Sculptures made with care
Fingers that embrace
That scroll and type and
Clasp each other
Desperately in prayer
Are fingers that know
The depths of my throat
Fingers that scratch and gag
Are fingers that choke
Yet they know their place
At the end of the day
When all I want is to see
My day’s contents displayed
So these fingers that will take
Me through the years
Will be the fingers who ache
At the expense of my fear
Jan 14
Jan 14, 2026 at 11:35 PM UTC
Two fingers on my right hand
The hand I use to write
The fingers my friends hold
in their hands tight
With nails my mom paints
glittery and bright
These fingers know
where they end up at night.
Fingertips that have run
through boys’ soft hair
My fingertips that create
Sculptures made with care
Fingers that embrace
That scroll and type and
Clasp each other
Desperately in prayer
Are fingers that know
The depths of my throat
Fingers that scratch and gag
Are fingers that choke
Yet they know their place
At the end of the day
When all I want is to see
My day’s contents displayed
So these fingers that will take
Me through the years
Will be the fingers who ache
At the expense of my fear