I wish I could kiss all the broken parts of you and make them okay.

I wish I could erase the past, so you could worry about the present, and so no one could use the weapons of the past to destroy you in the present.

Because your hands are not just lines of birth or origin but scars from the battles you have won. And maybe victory wasn't the goal but surviving and you survived them all. The wounds, they've healed...mostly, but the scars tell your story.

They tell of battles won, even when you were caught of guard

They brought weapons...and you had just your hands and your words never thinking to bring anymore.

You are a warrior.  

But sometimes you forget,  you forget how far you've come

You forget all the battles won and mountains climbed.

You did it all alone.

You have come miles upon miles.

But you forget; how far you’ve come and that the chips are stacked in your favor because you have so much farther you can go.

There are so many places you can go and the battles will end.

Your hands will heal, and you will retire them.

You will be able to use your hands again no longer to fight your battles but to write the riddles of your future...

and it will be beautiful.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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