IKeepMyHandsInMyPockets

Some people ask why I keep my hands in my pockets…
That’s what you do with change.

I store my good intentions in them like piggy banks
Until I hear them jingle when I walk
And state them with every step.
Afraid to spend an extra moment
Letting time slip through my fingers
Like liquid salvation slowly dripping in an IV.

I hold change.
Treating it the same as a pocketful of sunshine
When they can’t see it for themselves.
So I would offer you some…
But I’m scared you might not see it the same way I do.
Because we’re already blind to the truth
And only real eyes can realize that their eyes can be lied to.

So I keep my hands to myself
So I couldn’t hold a grudge

Clenched into strained fists
So I wouldn’t be able to hold something against you
When these bare knuckles are already brawling
With the monsters inside of me so I could find peace.

See, I’ve done enough with these hands that I’d come to regret.
So I handcuffed myself with thread
Hoping to weave a story with a happy ending.
But my scissor-hands keep cutting
At the fabric of my existence
Until I discover loopholes to find happiness in.
The way smiles collect at the bottom of wishing wells
And laughter in the air
Dancing with the offspring of naked dandelions
Stripped by the breaths of daydreamers.

See my fingers tend to have minds of their own
And they open up the way petals do
So you can see my palms looking up at the sky
Turning your change into change…
From coins into actions
Holding wholes like a case of stigmata
Just to show you that you are worthy of a sacrifice.

So I keep my hands in my pockets
And when I finally take them out
I’ll be able to offer you a better tomorrow.