If I were to explain the reason behind the mismatch of my mouth and hands,
I would only say this: displacement.

I choose to answer what I cannot hold.  
I wind up singing instead of touching.

Surely you can remember the time
I asked for your permission; you looked at me strange,

and not in a way that inspires
Freedom. What can I do except laugh?

Dare I turn this itch to clasp into something
as deliberate and precise as words?

Dare I spit volumes instead of throwing pebbles
and watch them sink instead of creating ripples?

When we argue, and I extend my arms to drive a point home,
it is only because it is better than the alternative, which is concession.

Inhale exhale i n h a l e   e   x  h  a  l  e
in lieu of our thumbs stroking the other.

I know when to keep my silence,
but forgive me when my hands do not know any better

than to shake and disturb.

all i notice is the glare of desk light, unforgiving
violins sounding, brown wood against horse hair

air from the fan close by, cold against my sensitive skin
bitter taste of medicine on my tired tongue

yet no one disturbs me
i am left alone to peruse the tiny dust motes on my laptop screen.

can one enlighten another with such simple observations?
the world is just a collection of useless objects interacting with each other.

i am tired. i have been cleaning,
solving sudoku and crossword,
writing, and playing my violin
with nobody around to witness
the way my hands are never still

i want them to stop shaking. once
in motion they never seem to listen
to me when i say "it's over, you can
rest", instead they find new ways
to involuntarily release my anger.

my shoulders are aching. i cannot
stretch and reach my toes anymore.
i packed my bags today. truthfully,
i wish i could just hold you again
(even if my arms tell otherwise).

i can remember, quite accurately
the day of your birth
the name of your mother
how you like your food spicy

how you have never had a first kiss
the shape of your mouth when you smile
the feel of your rough hands in mine
and all such simple truths as this

is it so hard for you, in turn
to remember how i cannot deal
with nights as lonely as this
how it is only your voice that i yearn

how i might not make it another minute
without checking to see if you have perhaps
acknowledged my existence, in a separate
universe than which we live in, that of pure silence.

so darling, it's funny,
i just had a swedish massage and
i cannot feel my bones
but for all the wrong reasons.

but it sure as hell isn't this silence, it is
not this gnawing sense of self-doubt
that seems to take over everything i do
for you, for me, for us.

i wish you would just talk to me.
explain why you just walked out
as if nothing happened, as if you
didn't care about the wrongness

and the seven thousand thoughts
in my head. i feel like screaming
a hundred times a day and you
can't even bother to call me.

you are not the only one
who's scared all the time.
i'm constantly shaking
and i am always alone.

i'm done being alone.
i need you but i also
need to know that
i can love myself.