Hands

I look down

At my hands

And they seem

so

small.

I can't stop the bombs

From falling, I can't stop

This fire;

I scroll

And see

Faces in pain, and

Faces that will

Never feel again.

I can't hold them

As they slip

Away, I have no way

To tell them

How sorry

I am.

I take my too-small hands

And pick up a pen:

Because I have felt like

No one could ever

Understand this unique

And shameful soul,

I have felt abandoned

And so cold…

But then I read a line

That touches

To the depths,

I connect, and see

There are others

So like me,

And suddenly I'm

Not alone,

I'm not alone,

Finally not alone;

I reach…

And maybe I am

Scrabbling for a handhold

In a world that is

Falling down around me,

But I will pick up

A pen,

And I will check that box

If it means the women

I love get to keep their

Children,

I will check that box

If it means

People like me

Want to live to

See another day,

I don't care if it's

"Selfish," I will

Write and I will

Pray and I will

Hope

For something more,

Something better

Than before.

Yes, I see the need

For revolution,

Yes, I know

There is corruption

But

What kind of a rebellion

Can we have

If none of us

Are left to fight?

All in time.

For now,

I will write

And I will check

And I will hold

The people who

See me

(even with

these

so

small

hands).