you can feel the stares,
glancing at your clothes, your hair,
your hand intertwined with that of another.

you can feel it,
and the hair on the back of your neck stands
as imaginary whispers fill your mind.

you can't hear them,
but you know.

know what they're thinking, how they're judging.

but then,
your hands start to swing and you know what's coming.

You grip tighter.

you need that hand.
it's the only thing that makes to stares go away.

You grip tighter, because that's what makes the judgement bleed away.

but your hands are swinging, and you know what's coming.

you whisper...

I whisper under the disguise of a breath, " please..please don't let go"
because I need that hand.
It's what makes it all okay.

I grip tighter.

She pulls gently at my hand, a silent answer to my plea.

I let go.

It's not okay.