These hands of mine
They're so very, very small.
When someone takes a glance at them,
They think these hands are so heartbreakingly childish.
But You know better, don't You?
-
You can see the history behind these hands.
In every single line of these hands is a story
Stories and memories that I'm too frightened to uncover.
These hands are tiny
But they hold so much.
Skin that's already formed over cuts from long ago.
Skin that's already healed from burns long ago.
These hands are wiser the older I get
They have learned to stay from burning metal
And from the sharp ends of blades.
There's some fires that these hands still play with though
And they get burned
Over and over again...
-
And these clever, knowledgable, foolish hands are useless
Useless in their filthiness
From the grime that they've willingly submerged themselves in
From the violence that they've allowed themselves to take part of
.
These hands are disgusting
From dipping into Lust and back out again.
Filthy as they try to hide the lies that they've created
To try to conceal that they've done wrong.
But really
They're just digging themselves deeper and deeper
Into the graveyard dirt.
And no matter how hard I scrub
The filth
Like a stain
It doesn't go away.
-
And yet for You
These tiny and filthy hands of mine
So useless and covered over with grime
They're still reaching out towards You
Tentatively and nervous
Afraid of being slapped away.
But the desperation
It is stronger than the fear.
And it drives me
So that I keep reaching out
A little bit afraid
But more hopeful than anything else.
-
These hands are worthless
But they want to make something beautiful
For You.
They want to heal and make things new
But they forget how broken they are.
In the end
It's Your hands
That these hands want to hold on to
-
Oh,
These
Tiny
Broken
Filthy
Hands.
.