Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

My Fathers Hands

His hands are the ones that held my mom when they were in college
The ones that held me when my uncle died.

They are soft yet rough,
Nice and comforting

Waiting for me to fall into them like I used to do
when I was a little girl,
You would come home,
and I would sprint through the house

looking for you just in time to jump
into your arms like you had been gone for years.

They picked me up when I fell,
And made me realize that the things
we call “monsters” in this life we live..
Really aren’t that scary.

I may be too big to fit into your hands now
but I will always be small enough to be your little girl.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback