Black Hands

My hands are black
And I have come to realize
I don't like them that way.
I can't remove them;
They are a part of me.
They make me whole.
But I don't like them,
And neither does anyone else.
They're ugly.
So what then?
I could wear gloves,
Or strategically hide them.
But I like the use of my hands.
And I'm not willing to sacrifice them
Just because they're dirty.
I wash them with soap,
Lots of soap.
And I scrub them,
But they remain black,
And unsightly.
And it hurts me.
But at least I know I wash my hands.
I know they're clean.
They just don't look that way.

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