I’m beginning to think my hands
don’t belong to me
They grip for things I don’t want
Hold hands with people I don’t need
Put things in my system that i
Am highly allergic to
Like almonds, sesame seeds, and despondency
They are always holding onto garbage
That I think I’ve thrown away
There is always a folded gum wrapper or a straw cover
Betwixt my lonely digits

Sometimes they choke me
until I lose myself completely
and wake up somewhere
far-off  and dark
with sweat everywhere but my palms

I’m beginning to think my hands
Don’t like me
That I am just an appendage to them
That all my other parts
Know who is really in charge here
There is a phantom feeling
Of other hands holding them tight
And when I look down
it’s just them
single-handed
And sinister

The nails on them grow too fast
I can’t keep up
Knives clumsily dangling
At my sides
At all time
I want to wear mittens in summer time

I’m beginning to think my hands
Would betray me at any chance
Are just waiting for the opportunity
For me to look away in the shower
Or put them down on a table of weapons
And forget them there.
What do they need me for?
They flirt better,
Hold on tighter,
And fight harder to live then I ever could.

I don’t feel safe with them
Call an authority
Handcuff me to a solid surface
(hold them tight until help arrives)