my hands looked young,
once.
worry ripped the skin on my nails
to bleeding shreds.
sadness and self-hate
sliced my wrists and arms.
work wore my hands to sandpaper.
my nails shortened.
my skin cried red tears.
my fingers became broken.
my palms became rough and calloused.
my hands are not the hands of a young girl's anymore,
nor are they the hands of a delicate flower.
they are the hands
of a strong woman.
Jan 12, 2020
Jan 12, 2020 at 6:08 PM UTC
my hands looked young,
once.
worry ripped the skin on my nails
to bleeding shreds.
sadness and self-hate
sliced my wrists and arms.
work wore my hands to sandpaper.
my nails shortened.
my skin cried red tears.
my fingers became broken.
my palms became rough and calloused.
my hands are not the hands of a young girl's anymore,
nor are they the hands of a delicate flower.
they are the hands
of a strong woman.
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