An artist’s hands— calloused and strong

Rough from hard work,

But always gentle with me.

You roll up your sleeves without complaint,

Patiently pulling the splinters from my heart,

The ones buried deep,

The ones I thought would never come out.

You sand away my uneven edges,

Smooth out my hardest days.

You chisel at my doubt,

Careful never to let me splinter again.

Hard times have pounded nails into us—

Each one a wound,

Each one a story.

But we’ve never let the nails break us;

They’ve only held us closer together.

Piles of sawdust gather

From the space you’ve carved for us to grow—

A quiet testament to everything we’ve sacraficed.

Your hands don’t just carry tools—

They’ve carried me.

When I doubted myself.

When I lost my way.

You taught me to see the wonder

In wood grains and imperfections,

How flaws can make something beautiful.

And sometimes I wonder—

Do you truly know what you’ve built?

Because it’s more than beautiful pieces made from wood.

You’ve built safety.

You’ve built trust.

You’ve built love.

And with the hands I love,

You’ve built a life I love.