I Have Small Hands
The best of days I'm careless and free,
these are the days I only need me.
The worst days come quick and I trip when I run.
These are the days I need help to get up.
I have two sets of strong hands that exist everyday.
Hands that can find me hiding,
that pull my insides out.
My head spins way too fast,
unconditional strength,
what it takes to make a helping hand that lasts.
I'm a bumpy ride,
but I got good parts.
Eyes razor sharp and a fighters heart, bleeding smart.
No regrets, accept the scars.
Wounds melded and healed by my two lucky stars.
My way, the hard way.
Always diving headfirst.
Not as green as you might think,
28 years young.
If I get fixed this time,
maybe I'll walk before I run.
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