Thursday, February 23, 2012

Argument of Two Hands

I am not sure what my left hand would say differently from my right; both are daily succumbing to my obsession with control.

I don't really like my body and some days I am not overly fond of my face; I tend to over-think everything- I mean way over think. And I obsess over trivial things, although there are days when I lend myself to believe that the over pondering that wells up inside of me is as serious as Christopher Columbus discovering that our beautiful earth is not flat as he had deemed it so.

My left hand may be inclined to tell its right contender that I am a little mad; that I don't always truly want what I say I do. My right hand could reply with statements and truths like- there are days she so desperately wants to believe in the beauty within that it pains her.

I believe together, my left and right hand realize that I am an exquisite soul and I just want to enjoy the wonderful things in life.

They both know secretly, that each of them separately, and ultimately together, are much more than mere ornaments; they are instruments. Instruments made to pluck apart meanings of words and meanings of life like the strings of a harp. They were made to create beautiful sounds and memorable stolen touches.

My right and left hand were designed to bring comfort to someone, just as the hands that helped to design me.

I am a lover therefore my right and left hand are lovers, together. Created delicately to strum over a glossy, black keyboard; manufactured to anxiously turn brown pages with black print; pat-pat-pat goes the right hand on Moses' black ear.

The left hand lurks over the freckled flesh one last time, or maybe the second to last. My fingernails grace the more masculine hand; just hold me, just one more time.

My hands hold secrets; they keep safe and locked, my fears.

I don't think they will tell, but then, oh-

Dirt under my pinkie fingernail and the slight tremor as I go to turn the page.

Maybe I trust my right hand more; my left, after all, is closer to my heart.

So, what would your hands reveal about you? What stories would they have to tell?

-Stephi D.

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