Unlike the tip of my fingers
That feels like they burned
When one or two songs
Finally sounds like it should
When I learned
Neither was the surface of my hand
That gets thicker in places
Some for all those years
I spent riding a bike
Some for holding on to my pen
a little too strong
Ones on my heart
They feel more like a
Blister
And where it came from
I don't know
Hard to explain it poetically
When tragedies and wars
Ignorance and greed
Grief and humility
Hunger and broken dreams
Doesn't sound like a guitar
And doesn't taste like good experience
But they do
Make a loud mark
-Suci BYT-
June 11th, 2025