My Small, Pale Hands

Held my skull tonight.

At the sink, cleaning my face in the dim light.

I rubbed my hands, gliding them with gentle pressure, over the the waves of my inner coral reef. I felt my skin over my bones, the fat and muscle. They only enhanced the special beauty of my strengths.

You are greater than your greatest weakness.

A pale pink wash cloth.

Author: Jen Crow

©Jen Crow. Be sure to ask for permission to use my artwork or photos. I warmly welcome comments and questions.

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