I have two hands.

The right is dominant almost always.

Occasionally the left is stronger,

And I am usually surprised when this happens.

Like when a friend you’ve known your entire life

Says something you’ve never heard from them before.

I gauge the strength of my hands by the amount of control I have

As I open and close them.

Slowly.

The left moves like water across glass

With hardly any trembling at all

Whereas sometimes the right appears to struggle against an invisible force

Quivering along from clenched to supine

Yet it’s the hand that can draw entire landscapes

It’s the hand that feeds my mouth

But I shan’t dismiss the left so easily

For it determines the notes I play on a guitar

Or the hand that caresses your nude back

The left experiences everything the right does

Just less the frequent toil

The left is the patience of a ballerina

The right can break the fucking door down

Especially when I don’t want it to

The right has much to learn from the left  

The left can draw as unsullied as when I was 3 years old

The way the right wishes to sometimes draw

But the right also knows that no one will ever believe

It came from the same person