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