Knuckles

There are two
each holds one hand.

The one on the left
has known me the longest
but doesn’t know me that much.

The one on the right
knows a lot about me
but does not know what to do with it.

The one on the left cracks my knuckles
always tries to please me
always fails
always tries too hard in the wrong direction.

The one on the right cracks my knuckles
sees how it hurts me
stops
digs his fingers into my palm
and holds it tightly
doesn’t let me go.

The reality of it is
that although I may never have the courage
to let them both touch me at once
they have already touched me at once
in my heart.

I’ve liked the one on the left like a slow car ride
learning slowly
accepting slowly
The flame constantly burning and dimming
but mostly dimming.

The one on the right knows how to make nerves jolt
with one smile
or one joke
and sometimes all he needs is to show up
and everything is right.
He is the flame that never stops reaching
but sometimes it is not towards me.
Sometimes I have to share.

The one on the left still has some growing up to do
even though he thinks he knows what he’s doing
even though he says he’ll listen and consider
you can tell he won’t.

The one on the right is already too smart to listen
but he always listens
and he understands
and twists your words to show you his side
until you are the one who needs to listen.

I still have some growing up to do
Here I am,
waiting for two hands to hold mine.
Maybe I need to just grab one
instead of waiting
instead of watching.

However
the left and the right both hold two significant sides of me
and I’m still unsure which side I can let go of
if I could even hang on to them.

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