Please Find This

Gentle.

        The bones in my fingers are longer now;
          I can hold a gun now,
          I can also hold your hand perfectly in mine now, letting you know that I want you to stay.
         They don't knock at my door anymore, they know my blood sleeps softly inside my veins instead of seeping through the wooden floorboards.
         I use my fingers for soft things now; no more violence against myself.
          I think of my mother and think of how gentle she was; I am a lot like her now.
         I pick up my broken pieces gently and carefully place them together; like people do with artifacts and beautiful pieces of art.
         I hold my baby niece, oh god, my whole world. I hold her close and tight; yet all so softly. She's so small and fragile that only gentle fingers should touch her.
          I use my fingers to let my lover know I care; running my fingers through his hair and caressing his cheeks when he smiles cause nothing is more beautiful.
         I use them to help others most importantly, wiping a girls tears because a inconsiderate boy broke her heart or handing warm food to someone who needs it more than I.
          I use them to write. I use them to love. I use them to help. I use them to be like my mother.
          'Cause the bones in my fingers are longer now
and I no longer use them for
violence.
|| s.w ||