Hands as a mask

I hide my face from you 

in an attempt to forget

the way your hand 

perfectly in mine.

You promised

to never let go,

but instead of using

my hand to hold yours,

I hold both middle fingers

in the air,

screaming to the sky.

You don't know that, though.

You just know

I hide myself from you

with the very same hands

you held ever so tightly.

I hide my face 

like I use to hide my scars,

the ones you'd kiss so softly.

I was broken,

but you glued me back together.

Glue doesn't stay 

together forever,

just like your hand

wasn't meant for mine


I realized then,

that our hands

didn't fit perfectly together.

You just had a thing

for glue.  

This poem is about: 
My family


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