Mute Voices: Spoken Word

Outlet 19

With these hands

With these hands,
Everything seems so soft and innocent.  Touching  as far as my hands will go, I grab only for a moment to feel a sense of relief. My hands are my greatest weapon; they have fought so many battles- Did I lose? Yes, many times, but my hands opened back up and fought even harder the next time.

       With these hands, I've walked through endless fields, climbed many hills, and ran many marathons. I fought  to make my words be heard by someone who has to use their hands to become stronger and wiser; Not caring about the losses because our hands never stop opening up to fight, even when we don't feel the need to.  Black is the purest of color; my hands are as black as the night but bleed as red as the blood that pours out.

   With these hands, I'm winning. I'm making worlds be reunited I'm speaking only for the death to hear those are the ones who pay the most attention to my hands. I've stopped people from losing their self. I've given until my hands turn raw.

    With these hands,  I'm praying for the blind to see clear. I'm wiping away the tears of the battered and replacing them with hope. My hands they're never judging, they're never impatient or undying. Things seem so still in a world where the color of my hands determines my sentence, sad but it's the reality of having black as my skin. There was once a time where just being me matters. Where me growing up to make a difference meant change; my children could go to school or church and not have to worry about another's hands being a cause for death.

   With these hands,
I raise them for chances. I cross them for pain when another one dies. This life is so real taking one out like a lion whose jungle has been attacked.
With these hands, I wiped many tears at the grave sites I've carried everyone else's pain entirely.  Speak my brother, my sister to let the unknown hear. My hands are nothing without a plan. I've never given one hand. I stand firm and I've given two. One day these hands will have a chance to be healed, to feel loved without even fighting for it they will touch only purity.

  With these hands, my world is still dropping making marks at every corner of the earth they're fighting harder by the days end. Boxers hands are played for the love of the sport; my hands are folded for the love of making my scars have meaning for making the color of my skin have no color. Raise your hands to prayer and never fold them change is coming my brother my sister with these hands I remain tall.