People say I have soft hands.
Smooth to the touch.
Soft and sweet.

But I dont like when they say that.
"Wow, your hands are so soft"
I can't help but take some kind of offence.

The soft hands that haven't done much,
Young and pure.
Unknowning and innocent.

They haven't done anything yet in theses short years.
Assisting but never actually doing.
Careful and timid.

Never have they been worn down from work.
Or raw from the hardships of the day.
Never bleeding,scratched or hurt.

Nor have they felt the hand of another's.
To hold in a tight gasp.
Not loved and caressed.

They want to be numb with pain, and love.
Worked until they can no longer live.
Leave life not as they entered,
Leave with a hardened pride, strength and work.