Right Hand’s Burden

The pencil snaps,

a sharp split of graphite,

black dust settling like ash

on rough skin.

Right hand pushes harder,

too fast, careless—

a habit broken

in a jagged line.

The stub rests uneven,

its tip a blunt apology,

a reminder how much

I depend on the sharp edge

that slips between my fingers.

Left hand waits in silence,

watching the fracture spread,

a cracked promise

written on paper too thin to hold it.