My Hands

My Hands
hold my children’s’ hands
when they are sick
when they are fearful
when they need to be comforted

My hands
write about
my condition
my children’s conditions
my ability to bring light and hope

My hands
crochet chemo hats
make brownies and cookies
send messages to friends
fighting their own fights with their own hands/heads/hearts
bring awareness to RA

My hands
are proud hands
not ashamed
of lumps and bumps
or even of the twists and turns that don’t yet exist
and not afraid to be held up to be seen
to be shaken (gently please)
to be held

From the Outside In

Unhappy with herself
she sits
and stews
and spreads
her whiny self loathing
and miserablity
and self doubt
To all who
are forced
by necessity
or accident
to stumble into
her spiders lair
she spins her web
and winds you in
and injects you with
her venomous smile
step in to my cubage
and have all of you
sucked from your bright and shiny day



(this is dedicated to the individual who finds my hands and my scars to be frightening and who enjoys telling me about the nightmares I star in)