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Little Hands
They once were little hands
Reaching for something
Unknown
But time flew by
And then they changed
No longer small
Tiny and soft now were
Hard
They no longer reached for mother
Or even another hand to hold
They stretched for the truth
The necessity of being
Wonderful
Who was this child?
Who was I?
My hands reflect me
An innocence not really gone
Different
I reach so often for a sense of being,
A sense of who I truly am
The necessities no longer comfort
The world isn’t fairy tales and
Princesses
There is so much I didn’t hold as a child
So much I didn’t know
Sorrow and pain
The ache of war, the joy of
Love
There is so much I hold now
Things I never had before
Independence, responsibilities
Arguments and the fear of a
Future
I look down at my hands
Are they really the same?
Did these hands hold Barbie
And paint beautiful
Pictures?
Did these hands really change?
Have I changed?
I no longer hold dolls and play
Silly games of adventure and
Fantasy
My hands no longer play.
They write.
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