Looking at my ugly hands I see history. The scars on each. My right index finger scarred from losing control of a 600 degree baking sheet. I burned it exactly the same way in exactly the same place twice within three days. My left hand scarred from being a little too bold at a drunken party just off the Georgia Tech campus. The back scarred from allowing some forgettable cute girl pour hot wax directly on my skin in front of a small crowd of curious onlookers.
All of my fingernails far from perfect. Uneven. Cuticles in varying conditions ranging from near normal, to damaged to non-existence. Symptoms of a skin disorder that has fluctuated in intensity my entire life. Occasionally affecting my hands to the point where making a fist causes my skin to crack open and bleed at each knuckle. As a child in school, often the simple act of writing was enough to draw tears. Most of my life I have been ashamed and embarrassed by the appearance of my hands.
Despite their often horrid and broken appearance, my hands have given me the world. My hands have allowed me to explore the beautiful depth of music. My hands have allowed me to play the guitar, the piano, the drums, anything really. After years of practice my hands now seem to have an innate understanding of the operation of most musical instruments. My hands brought to light at a very early age the fact that I was able to realize ideas onto the surface of paper. My hands have spent thousands of hours drawing and thousands more painting. My spray-paint covered hands and their insatiable desire for visual expression have had to use the collect call phone inside the Atlanta City Jail.
My hands have carried food to the tables of celebrities. My hands have brought food to my mouth, and the mouths of friends, family and lovers. My hands have built websites, logos, and illustrations that have reached people all over the globe. My hands have caressed the skin of lovers and in turn brought them to incredible climax. My hands have brought me to climax in times when there were no lovers. My hands have allowed me to travel great distances. My hands have repaired homes and machines when mechanical integrity begins to break down. My hands have felt the world, and through my ugly hands the world has felt me.