Dancing Hands

There is no music, but our hands dance.
You see them flying, but you don't understand...
yet they've caught you in a trance.
Some see my words, you just see a hand.
In my world this is communication.
You think this means I'm broken,
This causes me frustration.
You can't hear it, but I've spoken.
This is what I'm saying:
You can't fix my dancing hands.

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I was raised by two of the loveliest women in the world-my Aunt Karina and Grandma Peach. I grew up in Lubbock, TX with my brother Skyler. This poem is about the deaf culture and American sign language and just how important it is to stand up for yourself and be strong-most importantly, to celebrate being unique.