I know what your hands are saying. I know what everyone's hands are saying. Because I know how to hear them. I knew hands were talking for most of my life, but only now do I really listen. Their movements are words and they're constantly speaking. So my world has a language with no sounds involved.
It can be simple and surface with strangers in passing:
Two hands on her neck, with thumbs pointing down, and grasping and rubbing and moving, means I'm sore - but I'm strong - I have a lot on my mind and I love when you look at my body.
But that's just chatter, and it doesn't mean much.
I've learned to filter that sort of thing to get to the real.
And baby I need some more real.
Its when people use language and their eyes when they talk, that I don't believe a word that they're saying. They can think about those things - their winks and their breaths.
But I think that their hands are thinking for themselves. And move in a way that's untampered. Swiftly means strength and 'I'm certain', and pointing with pinky means picky.
Lately I listen to hands more than words because I think that they lie less.
And baby I need some lie less.
But don't look to my hands to understand my truth. Because I know how to break the rules. I think about my hands almost always, and move them specifically so the hands that you see aren't me. Sometimes I move them to imitate a woman that I found so beautiful in a dream. Other times I wear them like adopted hands tied to me; always bumping and dropping and fumbling.
I think its funny to be dishonest with these hands. Always moving, speaking and teasing.
Unless you catch me sleeping and then there's no faking; my hands know no lies when I'm sleepy.
Oh baby I wish I were sleeping.
I love these hands most when I'm sleeping. That's when they're most awake. And that's when they sing songs about me. Real songs about me. And I can't lie to you then.
And that's how you know when I'm real.
And baby I need me more real.
