My hand is scarred burns of when i was born.
I was consumed to belive that i was burned with the sparks of a pot.
But my truth only begins.,...

I was burned by light. My hands coul tell. I have wholes in my face.
But my skin is no tell. My hands do a dance. When a story I do tell.
Is how I know myself so well. My fngers sing a lullub when i type those words. But when i look at m hand. Does it say its own wordz?

Black spots all over my hands. Does it even know why it hurts when it dace? The black spots are a disease that I carry. Some say I'm a monster by the look of my face. Some say I'm a creature cause of the scars on my body. No one can take me infor who I am.

When my hand dance. Its a lulliby. Every word I type. Is another line, another day another scar. When will it end? Pain runs threw my hands. They tell a story with that pain. The dots are just a burn from when i was born. The eyes of my skin type the next word of my beginning. A new story. My Beginning....