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?


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