Klutzy

So this one's more or less unfinished... I could tell you it was meant to be that way for effect but it's not, that's just kind of how it turned out. Maybe you'll help?
I thought of the first couple stanzas of this one while doing vineyard work far far away, but because I had no paper I couldn't get very far into the poem without forgetting the beginning :P
It is actually a song but... I'm not singing it for you so hopefully you'll like it as a poem :)

Klutzy
I'm a little
Klutzy
Just a wee bit
Clumsy
Kinda sorta... You know...
Awkward with my feet

When you tell me "come here"
I will try but-
Oh dear
I am falling over
Continually

They tell me it's cute for the first fifty times
As I stumble through ice rinks and high mountain climbs
It's not like it's something I'm trying to do
I think I'm alright and then-
There goes my shoe

Somewhere in the awkward our two paths have crossed
You look know where you're going, I'm completely lost
You make fun of me for hanging out with nerds
And it doesn't help that I
Trip
On my words

But you know, I think that you're pretty darn sweet
And maybe you'll help me get back on my feet
Sorry for the trouble I'm putting you through
Because- I admit it- I'm falling for you

I'm still pretty
Klutzy
More than sorta
Clumsy
And what's even worse, I'm
Awkward with my heart

Hands

Sorry I haven't posted since Spain, I have a bunch of new unfinished poems and... plenty to do that takes priority over finishing them :P

Hands
They're dirty- well thank you for that
And there's a blister on my thumb
This pinky doesn't stretch out flat
Please don't point it out like I'm dumb

If you have nice hands, I won't whine‒
I too would like your satin skin‒
But my own hands suit me just fine
Each callous shows where I have been

These hands have climbed more trees and rocks
Than you've seen any grown man climb
They've greased engines and wound up clocks
And I splinter them all the time

They play tennis and violin,
You'll see it on my fingertips
And they get bored holding a pen
Or bucket without handle grips

Look! Here's a scar from boiling tea
This part has even had frostbite
And here's where the windshield cut me
On icy roads close to midnight

These hands work so hard kneading dough
For the best bread you've ever had
They can also hold newborns, though,
And give you great hugs when you're sad

My wrists may have some funny tans
And my fingers may not align
But my whole life is in these hands
And I thank heaven that they're mine