I naturally started writing with my left hand because it just felt right.
I held a pen in my right and knew it was wrong from the minute I began.
It was right, only because writing was what felt
so comforting to me.
Not how the pen fit in my hand,
or the way the words looked when writing with my left.
Not because my mother was a lefty, same as my grandpa.
It was because writing with my left made me feel a superpower like no other.
This was my strength.
Left just felt right.



Ever since I was young, I was nervous.
The nails on my fingertips looked like tiny nubs
with each nail bitten off in anxiousness.
I would clench my fists when angry
and shake when stressed.
I was left, handed with emotions I could not feel.
Instead I built scars on each left knuckle
from punching cement walls
in hopes of replacing the scars that were left inside of me.
I knew for a fact I would remain scarred for life
and stay right about one thing.



The first time I ever got my palm read
I extended my left hand and a strange lady told me you would be gone.
"Someone close to you will leave very soon."
And so you did,
you left.