My hands are a woman's hands
Delicate in place
Pretty in face
Nails all tipped
Even though I normally clip clip

Palms marked with heavy lines
From many movements.
Time after time

Mother touched me
Through every tip
And as I've grown, like hers mine slip
But as I've grown, father has shown
The widening of my palm oh how it's grown

And as I see my age maturing.
My fingers growing
The follicles blooming
I wonder who's hands will these become?

I see the hands of other boys
The hands of men
Marked and calloused
Big and strong
Veins popping through

My hands are soft and smooth
Small and agile
The expectations of my gender it does not soothe

For what have these people done that I haven't?
What have my hands not gone through?
What my hands have done hasn't been pleasant
So why can't mine be masculine too?

Is it the fat?
Is it genetics?
Is it more than that?
Who should I give the credits?

I'm still growing
Changing
My traits will begin showing
I'm just impatient
For my features that are latent
For I get enough comments
Without my hands being such an odd event