Hands
Still calling to me
Getting my attention
Rubbing
Scratching
Wrenching them.
Blisters,
Dry skin,
Cracking,
Even bleeding.
Rubbing them raw.
Only stopping when the pain is too much,
Or when other eyes on me.
Clenching them in fists,
Driving me nuts.
Then a 360....
A gentle touch
That has my eyes instantly swell up,
My face becomes blotchy,
The blubbery mess I avoid.
I stop myself.
My eyes ever so blue,
Glassy appearance.
The hurt is there.
The fight for denial
Only brings more awareness.
I've seen it before.
I've said it before;
The eyes do not lie.
Still.
These damn hands of mine.
Begging me to let it go.
Cry.
Copyright © Karen Harrington | Year Posted 2014
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