Internal

My hands

All you see when you look at me is a boy,
A boy with hands.
You wonder how heavy a load my hands can carry
And then mock them for not being as strong as yours
But what if my hands are not designed for strength?
What if all they know how to do is stitch broken things back together?
What if all they wish for is to escape by reaching for the shooting stars in outer space?
What if all they crave is to lock fingers with another hand?
How long before I am lost for good.
Lost in the ideas of who the outside world thinks that I should be
It must be possible to think, live, & feel without expectations or perceptions
But in reality, my hands are all torn up
Bruised, Battered, & Broken,
but yet I still dream of grasping perfection