A response to stress,
I'm a nervous mess,
And, I just don't know
what to do with my hands.
I'm awkward in charm,
Drink connects with palm,
But what do I do with my hands?
I pretend to inspect,
My nails I dissect,
Tell me, what do I do with my hands?
So, I stick them inside,
My jean pockets to hide,
It's something to do with my hands...
Movement to prevent,
This social stagnance,
And, I'll die if I don't find-
Just what do I do with my hands?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem