My hands with no calluses and hands
with scraped knuckles. My hands
with short nails and hands with soft
skin.

My hands that have seen the inside
of a woman and hands that have
held a man at my mercy. My hands
that have given my lovers a
reason to shudder and my hands
that gently take your hands when
you’re not even looking.

My hands that make fists and hands
that scrub tears. My hands that wipe
sweat off and hands that hang on
for dear life. My hands that turn
pages of books and hands that end
up covered in sweet sweet
chocolate.

These are my hands.

These are my stories.

These, are my hands.