When I sit down and look at these hands,
all these things that they have touched,
all the tears they have wiped,
all the blood that I've left like crumbs in my life,
I wonder are the things that I no longer hold worth it?
And I make myself sick with dizziness with the webs I spin
Because all those finger prints I have left behind
Don't matter anymore
But I try to remember that they once did.
My knuckles hurt now when I bend them.
My wrist creaks when I turn them.
The spots seem to grow every time I look at them.
I try to remember when they were smooth, silky
But that skin has long been shedded
And I have come to terms with getting older,
Just not the lack of accomplishment that I leave in my wake
But still even the dreams that couldn't quite make it don't mean that much either.
All that really matters is that I once dreamt them,
That once they had life breathing inside them,
That I never forgot what it felt like to sit at the windowsill and imagine my "one day"
Because if I forget them, surely I will start to wilt.
It gets hard these days to keep some lights on,
The ones that push me through,
That remind me to be kind and patient,
That all my ill fated good intentions mean something when they haven't in a while
And I guess I have to accept the martyr I make myself is on me, not on anything else.
I close my eyes, listen to the world around me
When I start to become overwhelmed
By all the things in this life that push me around.
I clench my fists, tell myself that I don't have to listen when people try to make me feel less
Because after all these years
Haven't I at least learned my own self worth?
But I make myself dizzy making excuses,
Making excuses for other people who slap my cheek
And I shouldn't, I shouldn't...
I look at these hands, feel the fingernails dig into my palms,
Reminding me that I am alive even if lethargic,
Trying to remember all the prints I've left behind still mean something
Even if no one remembers, even no one wants to.
I do because I used to be more than a ghost,
More than something to walk by,
And I haven't lost all that I was.
I just took a long rest, hiding within the fear that was me
Because it was easier to accept that my time ran out
Then these hands could still create beautiful.
In this skin I still breathe, sitting on the windowsill of my "one day".
Uplifting, uplifted said the woman to the young boy
And I thought her glass was filled higher than mine.
If I could fill my pockets with every sun shine and rainbow I've ever seen,
My seams would indeed be bursting
But instead I've stuffed them with shadows and all the ghosts I could find
Because carrying around the heavier baggage seems more interesting.
We are the martyrs of our own lives,
An orchestra of the tiniest violins that we constantly play
To convince ourselves our plights are worse than others.
The old man tells the young girl to keep her chin up,
Making me laugh at his forced encouragement
But still it keeps the girl smiling.
If I could close my eyes and remember all my good times,
My heart would explode from all the joy that I so easily forget
Because it's clouds I allow to stay over my head.
The drizzle seems somehow more comforting
Than ways that shine too much light on the beautiful things I try to hide,
My dark seems to be more inspiring than all my good,
Using all my tragedies as some ill fated muse.
I said to the kid it's just ranch and laughed at his confusion
But I decided not to explain my inside metaphor.
If I could count how many times I realized that so much of this doesn't matter,
I would be a better adjusted person
But we are the creators of our own misery
And the solution to our own worst selves.
At the end of the day, I'm just a girl who has been in love with writing her entire life. I am full of quirks, anxieties, fears, joys, laughter. And all I have wanted to do was give the world a smile.