NO SIGNAL FOUND [RE-WRITING]

hands

i'll take this hand
and wipe tears
i'll take this hand
and swear already smudged eyeliner

i'll also take this hand
and swear i'll slap you with it
so you stop using both of yours to yell
outside of your head

my hands have done many things
take a few fingers and slice my way
to a new dead end

take my thumb and pointer to point
and then pick up all the dirty work you
left over

paint my nails only to chip away
at them minutes later - like you chip at me,
still to this day

make a fist around my heart
and squeeze, never was sure if i was trying to
suffocate it or revive it, but it's still beating
so that's a sign right?

i could always tell you all the good things
my hands have done, like longhand writing
that no one really does anymore

or like how my fingertips would be calloused
from playing too much guitar
or so tender from tearing skin off them with my teeth

my hands are the windows into my mind.
you know muscle memory
i have a lot of that, pressing the on button for music, off for world but realizing again and again it's been broken since forever

sleep - a good way to turn it all off
i would if i could find the button
for rest

i could also share all the bad things
my hands have done
like turn on the tv but never off

or pick at my heartstrings till they snap
or scratch at old scabs and scars
and then oh look, i have literal blood on my hands

or maybe the time i held your hand
mistaking it to be a good thing
for my also bad ones to hold

mine weren't just garbage collectors
or weapon holders
or makeup wipes

they were also just hands
at least
that's what they should be

i remember someone telling me
my life was perfect as if she lived it
and my fingers twitched
they always do at bullshit

8.30.17