success in the arts

my broken hand

I wake up and it is still in plaster, wrapped tightly like a glove,

I was going to draw and create all of this uni break,

writing hand, my drawing hand, my crafting hand,

shattered in four pieces,

I sit and look at in despair, how will I get anything done?

I get out of bed, put a shirt over my head, careful with my bulky hand through the arm hole,

sit down at the desk, looking at a blank sheet of paper,

cradling my bulky plaster hand, feeling the texture grazing my palm and fingertips,

I pick up a pen and let the ink seep into the paper, I move up and down the page,

getting a feel for the pen in my hand, seeing how steady my lines are,

a little shaky but I like the style, the innocent uneducated hand I have,

It feels like teaching a child to ride a bike,

And that is when the pen breaks,

I didn’t realize how hard I was grasping the pen, shatters,

plastic spikes penetrate my hand and pinky finger,

I feel the pain, but only stare in shock as ink and blood mix on the page.