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These Hands

These hands are an extension of me like the pen is an extension of the writer

Like the mic is the extension of the MC.

These hands have crossed borders time zones, ideologies trying to break free

as they caress the paper through the ink in found in my words.

These hands have been the focus of ridicule because of their size and texture.

Too smooth to be hands of labor.

Too small to be able to provide.

Too feminine.

Like that is suppose to be an insult,

When in fact that’s the best compliment these hands can receive.

Because to me women are the center of the world.

They make the household run and run the household

And let men think that they are in charge.

They will do anything to feed their families while men sit drinking disgust mixed with depression.

Some work after street lights come on

Others balance corporate worlds and families.

Others study, work and are mothers and husbands.

Many have the innate urge to survive that

I am glad that the women in my life have passed it down to me.

Because I never craved the taste of disgust always craved the feeling of action

And my hands are that action.

When I write

When I raise the fist

When I stop the ignorance blinding my people

Who think we are treated equal.

Who think that the white picket fences is the epicenter of acceptance.

Who think that the white picket fences is the epicenter of acceptance.

Who think that the white picket fences is the epicenter of acceptance

And honestly these hands have never been accepted.

And I am glad because without the rejections, the stares, the putdowns

That fueled my perseverance like it has fueled the women in my life to survive

I would not have the power and will to do this (raise the fist).

So if you want to offend my machismo

Get in line because it left me.

When I held my daughter in my hands

And realize that women are healers

They are precious, they are the center

Givers of life, whether through the womb or through indigenous myths.

Red Queens programmed to survive

To keep their seeds alive

Because a woman’s job does not end with the 9 to 5.

And if these hands still look feminine to you

All I have to say is two words

Thank you.

Rodrigo Sanchez-Chavarria © 2006