Dear hands,

Stop shaking stop picking.

I wish you'd be still and

Stop scratching stop flicking.

Listen,

You move with anxiety.

I can't make you stiffen.

Stop moving, finally.

But without you I'd be ruined.

You supply sponteneity.

Without you, I'd be voiceless then

May fall to compliancy.

My pen

Is your favorite plaything.

You flourish; rhythm lands.

Others are beginning

To understand.

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