(or your hands are bleeding gold & it's staining the carpet)
i remember a time where my hands would fumble with every little task i used them for.
opening doors,
opening sodas cans,
brushing my hair.
there is something so interesting about ignorant hands.
"firsts" are the worst. you're hands could have been callused & knowing every song on the guitar but there still would be something your fingers couldn't grasp.
first time riding a bike,
first kiss,
first job,
the first time someone you love pulls their hand away from you.
you could always train them. teach them how to hold chopsticks. how to snap. how to hold the knife you will soon use to stab the next person's back.
this body holds so much worth. i find gold flakes in between my fingernails & everything i touch gets stained. again, i remember that these ignorant hands will always be curious.
YOU ARE READING
Fragmentation
PoetryFragmentation// the process or state of breaking or being broken into small or separate parts. ××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××× It's hard for me to complete my poems. And I finally decided to share some of my poetry with strangers. These...
