I've always had long arms and my sleeves never fit. And my mother would worry about my dangling wrists and I never grew to tall, but it did me no harm To never grow into the length of my arms What I have embraced, what I've carried for years Like a bucket of self doubt, like a basket of fears but we finally cherish what we got from the start Like the length of our own arms and the shape of our hearts I dreamt I was flying, and I dreamt of my mother She was walking in paradise with one saint or another and I looked out at my own arms they felt so strong and really quite lovely though ridiculously long
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