these hands by Anonymous
These hands That have cracked and broken Bruised and bled Bore the weight, this balance like a friar tolling his bell So sudden So sure They strain under the pressure Crumble slowly This is the old me But it’s not anymore The knuckles bolster Buckle up and hold Bend instead of break Until they mold into what I never knew they could be This feeling: Free What they should be And so I throw away the casts I stand up The weight lifted But the imprint never gone
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