What Lies Beneath

Shook hands with a stranger, a fleeting exchange,

my grip felt so flimsy, confidence strange.

In crowded rooms, it's a silent parade,

a handshake declares all the words left unsaid.

Palms sweaty and clammy, I fumbled my card,

each handshake a story, each squeeze can be hard.

What do they see? An uncertain design?

Or strength hidden deep, like a fractured line?