I've sat staring at them for ages. Turning them over trying to see what's different. Looking for a change. There appears to be none.
Still small, still notched and scared
Still bashed and bruised
With every day a new one appears.
But generally they remain the same
They are still skillful
They can still create art
They can still destroy
They can still wield a sword.
They can still manipulate wood and make amazing things
They can still write words
They rejoice at many they have written
They recoil at many also.
They are capable of the lightest touch to a cheek
They can wipe away tears
They can lift a chin in order to stare into someone's eyes.
They can soothe and comfort
They are capable of violence
They can deal a devastating blow
They can wound
They can heal
They look the same
They look strong
They feel strong
They are strong
My little hands are exactly the same, same wounds, same scars and weaknesses, still capable of amazing things.
What has changed is me! Looking at them now as these words appear I realise they can't hold everything. However they will always try.
