You Hand Is Steady

Your hand is so much steadier than mine.

Daily drawing lines on paper with rhythm and purpose,
I think you'd have better luck applying makeup
on these eyes.

Mine is a writer's hand, shaky, and when active,
irregular in chicken scratch mistaken for poetry.

But every day I see you, you paint me beautiful.

You can't seem to stop calling me beautiful,
using words with conviction that I cannot deny.

I wish anything I wrote had that kind of strength of belief.