It’s not in your hands, said, someone,

When all hope was lost,

Hands,

Which held mine teaching me to walk,

Couldn’t understand why I’m broken,

Which taught me handwriting,

Couldn’t comprehend the struggle behind declining grades,

Hands,

Which hit me for being me,

Never seen my real face again,

Which cleared tears off my face,

Got tired of doing it again and again,

Hands,

Which once held the blade,

To end it all,

Now holds a pen,

To record stories,

“It’s always in your hands”.