My Hand

Five digits stand
separate but united.
Tough as nails,
but soft as the pad
on every finger.
Open in acceptance and love,
but closed in anger and scorn.
Each scar and callous, a tale of where I've been.
The lifeline, a map
of where I'm going.
My left hand like my right
but opposite.
My fist I open,
and the story
of my life unfolds.