in my own hands
Having been parts of my body that I take for granted; hardly ever even notice,
my hands are suddenly transformed into the truest embodiment of me,
extensions of myself.
All my euphemisms reflect this new strange state of mind:
I need to get a firm grip on my feelings, grab a hold of my life so it does not fall between my fingers.
But how, if I can no longer close my fist, will I be able to really hold on to anything?
