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.