I try my hand at poetry,
I am no great talent.
I write words that flow endlessly and messily
from my heart, merging with the words
my brain creates in its boredom.

I try my hand at being a girlfriend,
I have no great talent at this either.
For I often ruin my own good standings,
as if to stand only a little higher than my partner.

I try my hand at helping,
though I do not extend it as often
as I like. Most days it is hard enough
taking my own hand.

I try my hand at greatness,
though it cannot be measured
until the day comes where the only
thing my hand tries is resting for
eternity.