Poetry - Death, Demise . . .

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Poetry - Hands

 

Hands. —

My hands tend to crack,

And with that snap,

They hold my pencils and pens,

For me to mend the minds of others
My pen is a part of that plan,

But alas,

My art ; my work,

My work ; my passion,

But without these aching hands,

My art wouldn't stand.

 

Class Struggles : 1

 OKAY! OKAY- I i'm graphic desgin 2 right now and I'm slowly suffering while doing this I swear I'm trying to be productive but it is hard. I am on medication for ADHD as well but I might need to up the dose as it doesn't seem to be working right now??? I know that its my brain being wired differently but sometimes I feel like I want a normal brain. But alas; I'm the universal weird kid typing onto a digital Dairy where I show specific stuff I chose and then copy and paste it into my actual Diary. Sad me. ;^;