Blind Girl's stream of consciousness
HANDS
i am all Hands small but powerful Hands that,
reach for everything always feeling my way,
through life through my living room through my dirty laundry through a bag of M&Ms,
to delightfully discover the imperfections of manufactured symmetry,
my Hands are my eyes seeing all i touch,
seeing softness that others don’t seeing strands of silk seeing hard-water,
marks on silver wear seeing the differences of each white wash cloth seeing the warmth,
of your insides seeing the comfort of a round plump belly seeing playful curls in body hair, and only seeing what i want
my Hands are more like a tongue flitting flirting grazing,
across smooth and rough surfaces probing,
tickling massaging getting a feel a taste, of what is there, out there,
for my Hands to feel,
my Hands are givers takers builders and breakers,
my Hands are all i have but i’m happy,
with them, with them i’ll meet the world,
shake its Hand,
shake its head,
shake its sense of perception, so when i’m in a Mall,
looking at odd-shaped jewelry and the short man snaps,
at me asking me if i am blind, if I can see the sign
DON’T TOUCH THE MURCHANDISE,
and i say yes i am, i was just seeing if there was something,
i want to buy and he says that i don’t look
BLIND,
then i say he may not look STUPID, but he is,
i want to check,
him to see if he feels as he sounds, but at that point,
i don’t think he’ll let me, so i go on,
to other places where my Hands are not prosecuted,
not judged, where there is no fight for freedom but if,
i must fight, i will my Hands are all-powerful,
in that way that they fight for my body your body,
but for themselves as well and i don’t think eyes can do that.
i am all Hands small but powerful Hands that,
reach for everything always feeling my way,
through life through my living room through my dirty laundry through a bag of M&Ms,
to delightfully discover the imperfections of manufactured symmetry,
my Hands are my eyes seeing all i touch,
seeing softness that others don’t seeing strands of silk seeing hard-water,
marks on silver wear seeing the differences of each white wash cloth seeing the warmth,
of your insides seeing the comfort of a round plump belly seeing playful curls in body hair, and only seeing what i want
my Hands are more like a tongue flitting flirting grazing,
across smooth and rough surfaces probing,
tickling massaging getting a feel a taste, of what is there, out there,
for my Hands to feel,
my Hands are givers takers builders and breakers,
my Hands are all i have but i’m happy,
with them, with them i’ll meet the world,
shake its Hand,
shake its head,
shake its sense of perception, so when i’m in a Mall,
looking at odd-shaped jewelry and the short man snaps,
at me asking me if i am blind, if I can see the sign
DON’T TOUCH THE MURCHANDISE,
and i say yes i am, i was just seeing if there was something,
i want to buy and he says that i don’t look
BLIND,
then i say he may not look STUPID, but he is,
i want to check,
him to see if he feels as he sounds, but at that point,
i don’t think he’ll let me, so i go on,
to other places where my Hands are not prosecuted,
not judged, where there is no fight for freedom but if,
i must fight, i will my Hands are all-powerful,
in that way that they fight for my body your body,
but for themselves as well and i don’t think eyes can do that.