The deep, strong colors 

of intoxicated ink,

Smearing when wet,

Semi-permanent when dry,

A simple X takes points 

from an assessment,

And a quick star 

awards hard work,

On paper it’s permanent,

Where words must stay,

Proving confidence in what you say,

In this thin plastic tube,

Where ideas make it move

to form visuals of what you dream,

On whatever it may be

My hands are beautiful,

I like to think that way,

The long, thin fingers that 

move so gracefully in whatever I do,

I admire them even if they don’t look pretty,

I like seeing scars and calluses,

Showing something other than 

nail polish or cleanliness or perfection,

Those things show more of me 

than beauty ever will,

I stare at the color of my hands,

Noticing the difference in shades,

In boredom, I draw on them,

Creating swirls and dots and stars

until it becomes too noticeable,

But I still appreciate every little thing 

about this wonderful gift