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poetry

Hands

What started as a midnight thought quickly turned into a poem that went down a road I didn’t expect it to. A long time ago, what feels like ages, I had a relationship with a boy who […]

I don’t know what to do with my hands

I feel like my back is against the wall

I lost my logic, yet doubt grows tall

My fingers fumble for a grip

Every move just makes me slip

I wish I didn’t have to fish around

Waiting to hear a sound

Or a reply from you

All I have is what I write

A regrettable choice, and in hindsight

I wish I hadn’t said yes

Maybe I wouldn’t lie here

Wishing I could disappear

Back to the year

Before the tears

When anxiety filled my head

Laced with fist fueled dread

At least he was sweet and kind

At least he didn’t toy with my mind

Or make me cry

Our goodbye was short

The older I get, the more I know

Yet why doesn’t this help me grow

I’m still stumbling like a bumbling fool

My heart leading like a stubborn mule

I used to clasp his hand in mine

I don’t know what happened with the time

But now there isn’t any left

Now I just heft regret after regret

I bet this wouldn’t be so bland

If I still knew what to do with my hands

***

What started as a midnight thought quickly turned into a poem that went down a road I didn’t expect it to. A long time ago, what feels like ages, I had a relationship with a boy who treated me extremely well. Although the relationship made me uncomfortable (luckily, it was short), I still remember his gentility. We don’t keep in contact, but I see him once or twice and know he’s doing much better. Every relationship teaches a lesson, and that one taught me not to dismiss someone’s kindness. It also taught me to say no to people I have little interest in.

By griffalice

A poet, an artist, and an explorer.

1 reply on “Hands”

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