Rough, and prickly, they scratch my skin like sand paper. They rake across my my face and ears.
As the warmth seeps into my skin I feel at peace. I feel safe and that is enough to stay and enjoy the bony fingers that irritate the sensitive skin of my cheek and caress me so lovingly, Damaged by my existence.
- mother's hands
YOU ARE READING
Looking out of the car window
PoetryJust a bunch of poems I've had in my head for a while while sitting in bed
