Imprint of Thought

Smudged ink on my palm, a charcoal tattoo,

each line a reminder of all that I do.

Left-handed scribbles, chaotic and bold,

a reflection of thoughts that refuse to be told.

Meeting drags on, I glance at my hand,

gray streaks whisper tales, like grains of soft sand.

The chaos erupts, an anxious ballet,

as graphite paints secrets that won’t fade away.