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May 2018
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.
January 10, 2017
enjolras
Written by
enjolras
215
   Fawn
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