***Written for my mother, who is going through a very difficult time right now. Sometimes I genuinely forget how much like her I am. Love her, she is my rock and my mother who has always faced any situation head on. We will get through this together.. Love you to the moon & back.***

The writing says:
Two hands reach out towards one another:


The same but different in these walks of life,

Separate bodies that know wrong from right,

For both hands know of sorrow and of strife.



They've also been guided, mischievous, and have grown,

They've been show how to, and worked to the bone,

They've held others and found what it means to be alone.



They know the tender grip of love, and of nervous sweat,

Two hands understand the trembling of fear, and yet

They both understand too well frustration, loss, and regret.



Both hands have been held up in unending countless ways,

Middle fingers, high fives, hello’s, prayers, and parting waves.

They've been the first to know birth and to touch a few graves.



If hands could speak they’d say a lot more than our lips,

A lifetime timelapse to end, while one is assisting the other is giving in,

One of these hands is mine, which do you think it is?