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Mar 2018
It was red sand
Dripping through my fingers
Landing on my orange dress

I had been working with clay
Now my hands have grown
To be sensitive and alive

I press my hands against wooden fences as I walk
And to the tree's bark
Rough, under my, now delicate, palms

It was so new
I was feeling something real
For the first time

Clay had become my addiction
Something I could feel and sculpt
With a clear mind

I felt every grain of red sand
Drip through my fingers
And land on my course, orange dress
My hands feel new. I can feel everything. It's such an amazing sensation. I can't believe I've been living without this for so long.

Thank you to everyone reading my poetry. <3
Written by
E McNamara  18/F/in the ocean
(18/F/in the ocean)   
299
     --- and Tatiana
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