Speaking Through Fingers

Speaking through fingers, 
leaves stinging that lingers,
and it runs like shivers
that run down your spine.

Bruises and imprints
on insides of fingertips,
on feelings and visions
of when you were mine.

God does not waste pain,
or waste space, so explain,
how do I stop thinking
of you all the time?

Texting and calling,
and writing and drawing,
runs steady and steadier
on the decline.

Speaking less of the mess,
and fighting and stress,
helps fingers stop speaking
and hang up the line.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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