Despite how much of my life I have spent with
My hand wrapped around a certain cylinder
Leaving traces across the sheets from how my wrist moves
Repeating its course often enough that I am
Never quite not sore

Many have said that my words are
Hard to read
And when they do so from my typing
I know it is
Because
I flaunt what I learned in years of study
Poring over others’ words in attempts to make my own
And delighting in seeing their traces spread around
Drinking them in deeply
A common enough conceit

That’s not always what it is
Even though I have been told
The tracing lines I leave behind are
Lovely and worthy
I have also heard from many mouths that
Eyes reject the work of hands
And so I am concerned

A custom poem would make a great gift, you know!

And I’m happy to receive a gift in turn