Marred Hands (to the devil)


United States
41° 17' 12.7248" N, 73° 46' 59.1096" W

Ink-smudged hands betray me

Proof that I'm still fighting 

My thoughts can be rambunctious

I don't quite know where I am


I'm a finger puppet

Keep forgetting my lines

I can't seem to stop it

Mimicking roles not my own


I want out of the gray

To stark lines of paper

Where I have found a way

To stitch together my thoughts


With a black pen as thread

Here I can find my voice

Preaching inside my head

Odd, how now they all listen


So observe my stained hands

Tremble at what you know

Who you know that I am

"What has her pen done this time?"


I underline the Scriptures

Claiming promises as mine

I pray to the Creator

Writing His words next to my own


I make art through the pain

Writing poems, sketching

Proof that I still remain

You have not defeated me


My God sees the darkness

As I view blank paper

He readies His brushes

And paints with His light and grace


His hands are twice as marred

My name carved on His palm

Near the beautiful scars

From the nails He took for me


You thought you'd won then, too

With the death of our hope

I guess no one warned you 

Of strength found in our stained hands

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