in the desert
a spider traps a mouse
a woman cries
I feel her hot tears
on my head
they drip drip drip
I look out over my balcony
wondering, why?
what is the point?
a man lives alone with his goldfish
he hasn't seen a woman naked in years
he reads a novel and laughs to himself
I hear his laughter
It crowds my mind
I feel its hands and elbows poke my sides
I walk into work
I walk out
somewhere downtown,
a teenager is trying marijuana for the first time
I feel the warmth
the guilt
I feel endless

Every smile
Each step, skip, jump, and run
I ache for you
By my side
Wishing in each moment
You could be mine
Smiling so close
With our eyes glistening
I continuously long to reach out
Hoping your hand
Is there to hold mine
But my arm extends
And I remember you are not there
Yet I can feel your warmth
And your fingers
Holding hers ever so tenderly
And the breeze flows through
The gaps of my fingers
I have loved you too late

They say that when you grow up,
The world will be in your hands.
Yet, small phalanges cannot affect such diversity,

The thought is comforting,
However, disagreement tugs me.
This simple body part
Functions in ways that could
Destroy or kill.

Fingers dance upon
Passionate melodies
Or provide
Soothing caresses
Assuring you that you are in peace.

But some are stained crimson
With marks of sin.

Callused, rough, and
Ignorant about a
Tender touch.

Nimble and agile, they create
Illusions the human eye
Cannot follow,
Letting them have freedom to
Manipulate and control
Weak minds.

Yet they also spring delight in
Children's eyes.
Their imagination beholds
Tales of magic and fairytales with each
Flick of the wrist.

When you're in a void,
Consumed by your thoughts, just
Doesn't a spark light a
Fire of desperate hope
For a savior to pull you out?

Unpredictable movements of doing the
Wrong things for the right reasons,
Or vice-versa,
Who can you really trust?

Unpredictable movements of doing the
Wrong things for the right reasons,
Or vice-versa,
Who can you really trust?

Human hands hold frail things with
Care or recklessness.

Human hands  share
Fear or love.

Human hands display
Favor or hatred.

Take my two cents and tread carefully.
The globe is but fragile glass

Entrusted in your hands.

You think you love me
but you don't understand,
that method and madness
can't go hand in hand.

Hannah Rogers May 16

i'd rather have this art on my body
than your hands
for this art only leaves beauty
and your hands leave bruises
this art makes me smile for days
and your hands make me cry for hours
your hands bring me nothing but ache and sorrow
where this art brings me happiness and confidence
so i'd rather have this ink
etched under layers of my skin
for it brings little pain but years of smiles
but your hands
only leave black and blue
and tearful nights

Praline Poet May 7

You want to introduce us
to a house of gold
But gold was never really my color
For some time
It felt as though
a hundred hands held me
Led me through the weight
Pain and loss
that I must bear
My brain spins
And I see
The hands are there
not here
A hundred hands hold you
Through the loss that you must bear
But there is no loss
Only the flowers we forgot to smell
The birds we didn't listen to
The beauty we were blind to
And you
must think I'm blind
for not wanting your house of gold
But Beauty
Is in the eye of the beholder
For a hundred hands
and a house of gold
cannot take me somewhere
I'm not meant to go

honey May 1

your hands are on me
you made me bad
disgusting, rotten and
you spoiled my innocence
my ability to trust
you erased my childhood with your
all i can see is your hands
everywhere they shouldn’t be
they’re suffocating me and you’re
you’re damn near evil
you’re just a memory
i hope you burn, bleed, drown

this was the first thing i wrote about my childhood, which i only start to remember after my 8th birthday. i don't remember his face or who he was, only his hands.

I have to wash these hands
These hands are dirty

I'ma try and write a lot of these.

Kissing my neck
Your hands firmly grasping my body
Conversation ceased
The word "virgin"
Echoed from my lips to your body
Your faulty reassurance
Echoed back
Words I'm sure are all too familiar
To your perfect and deceiving lips
Oh, meaningless love
You will never be love
Your contagion so deceiving

CautiousRain Apr 23

I've got to hand it to you,
the curvature of your palms
are so impeccable,
that they easily slip into
the palm of another,
with skin smooth or roughed
by work, and yet even those fingertips,
slender, stubby, even some missing or bent,
can delicately intertwine
as if all gestures could be made together
and your skin and fingerprints could merge
with each touch like a puzzle piece
offered in twos,
designed to craft and to hold on

Original prompt said to write about a body part so I chose hands. Let this poem lighten up the place since I'm spamming my feed rn.
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