Same Hands, Same Stand

Yeah. Uh. 2:00 AM kitchen light buzzes low. Your hand-me socks

with holes will mend tomorrow. Same chipped mugs split between us now.

Steam rising like the vows we never spoke out loud. Fridge door open,

casting blue on your tired eyes. Counting change for milk while dawn stays shy.

Laundry basket full of shirts worn thin, but your fingers thread the needle

where hope's been. No fancy rings, just calloused palms pressed tight when the landlord

calls or bills eclipse the night. We don't cry, we sort receipts in silence.

Turn stress into strategy, pain into alliance. Yeah. Same hands,