Hands

Your words sank into my being

Like rocks

And attached themselves.

They are now covered with

The moss of my own

Self-defeat

Layered

Over all of the times you told me that

I wasn't worth

Your love or

Your time or

Anybody else's,

For that matter.

 

Your indignance stained my skin

Like scars

In shattered patches

Like railways left to decay.

I still feel your hands,

Much larger than mine,

Pulling me into your world

That I would never

Truly be able to

Escape from.

 

The trust that I gave you

Slipped through your fingertips

Like sand

And you never gave me anything

To hold on to.

 

Now I am left unable

To trust

For fear that it will be

Wasted on someone

Who blows it away

Like stardust.

 

My hands are unable

To grasp another

Without fear that

Those exact palms

Will someday stand

Between me

And the door,

That those palms

Will someday wander

Into unwelcome territory

And leave me feeling

Naked and alone,

That those fingers

Will someday run against

Someone else's shoulders.

 

I hold my heart in my

Open palms

But I am unable

To share its warmth

For fear that

Someday, someone else

Will return it

Ice cold

And that this time

I will not be able

To revive it.

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