'graph # 1

My hands are soft and seemingly gentle. I could tell you many stories of both when I used them to heal, or to hurt. I cannot say I am proud of hurting another, especially one I care for so much. It is not my way, and I am hoping that in the years to come it will not ever come to be my way. I use my hands to wipe away dirt and blood from my little sisters scrapes and cuts. I use them to wash dishes when no one else dares. My hands show only that they are fair skinned and polk a dotted with freckles. If you look close you see scars in which even I can’t remember how or why they are there. I am ashamed that there was a time where I did use them to fight. My mother says I have a strong punch. I guess she is proud of what she has taught me, I can defend myself. These instances have given me an insight to a person I hate, a person I never want to see. I now know how to be a more patient, and flexible person. I keep my tempr in check. I even try to keep from lashing out with my words. I want to be the gentile person that people see, so that is what I choose to do. I choose to heal through physical and emotional ways. I am always there for those that need it. I listen, and with these very hands of mine, I comfort and hold my friends. These are my hands, what I do with them is what I choose. I choose to be the friend and sister that I am needed to be.