i'd rather throw hands than cry
i'd rather drink this drink than cry
i'd rather set this house on fire & tuck myself into bed than cry
i don't cry a lot but i wish i did, i have a lot on my mind !
should've beens, could've beens, & would've beens. too many to count. i should get "no ragrets" tatted to my skin to remind myself always, that the sun comes up. i'm calling this one hands !
my hands move things... break things... shake things... lately my hands have been holding hers ! & that's a beautiful thing
i put hands hands together in prayer to keep the faith, i raise a toast to the fallen to honour the memories, i throw a middle finger once i identify the false among us. hands do a lot. my hands do a lot. except wipe tears. why ?
i wish i could cry more, i have a lot to be happy about. family, friends, clara, music ! air, water, the earth i stand on, the fire in my veins, the list goes on & on & on.
maybe your hands are tired. maybe they're covered in dirt, & grit, & mud. maybe they're coated with sin, maybe they reek of the smoke you've been chaining.
keep moving
slide them gloves on & weather it anyway you can, put them rings on & feel yourself a little, roll the windows down & feel the air in between your fingers.
keep moving until it kills you !
i have to keep moving, moving my hands. i need to build, destroy, create & all of it. for now, my hands can hold this cigarette & tap tap tap at this keyboard. there's a time & place, and i'm glad you're here with me right now. you coulda been anywhere else !
