My Strings!
Like a puppet in a sense, I loosely hang here
Getting images of feelings in color. Bold, timely, revere.
A string from the thought to a brush in hand.
I trace and I move in unison per my command.
Swaying and twisting my wrists with love
Looking for a nod I’ve impressed master above.
Thankful for the gift given to me
To transmute love by design. Tuned harmony.
I don’t always understand the direction
but there’s a knowing in my strings. there’s a connection!
It’s not a game. I’m not playing. Nor am I a toy.
It’s an honor, a badge, a duty.
I’m a real boy.
-Jalaila Hardy
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