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is love blind?
how does it find me
so often in the dark?
if I am blind also,
how can love lead me
to a better place?
does it see with its hands,
feel through the empty spaces
of my bones
where I hide?
can it hear my heart
beating in the silence
so loud it drowns me
in its fire?
sky 2d
I can't seem to properly express how I feel.
It's like... like...
Watch my hands, watch them move and explain all of the thoughts trapped in my mind
Watch my eyes and my face, look at me. look at me.
My tears can say more that I ever can
My hands, how they pull you closer, how they're thrown up in the air, what do they mean? What do they convey?
What are they trying to say?
I know how I feel, I do, I swear
I just can't tell you.
Not because I don't want to
I just don't know how!
I can speak, I can think, my will is free as well as my mind,
I'd tell if I could, and I'm trying!
Look at my hands, shaking hands
trembling hands
my fingers, look at my fingers
the way they shiver in the warm air
Look at my arms, how they scramble to explain,
look at my eyes.
My eyes.
What are they trying to tell you?
My mouth can speak, my mind can think, but my eyes will say more than I ever could.
My words will never be enough to tell you how I truly feel, and I'm sorry.
These are the hands that will guide you to greatness,
These are the hands that will stay through the years,
These are the hands that will celebrate good times,
And these are the hands that will wipe away tears.

These are the hands that will love you forever;
When you are weak they will help you feel strong,
And, right now, since these hands are entwined together
These hands are precisely where they belong
Recently I was asked to write and perform a hand-binding wedding ceremony for two of the loveliest people I know while I was dressed as a dragon. It's definitely one of the best things I've ever done, and I doubt I'll ever do anything like it again! This is the poem I wrote for the special moment.
Nuna 6d
Forgive me if my pain has touched you in ways my hands never have
You’ve got wounds I should have kissed gently and fire beneath your skin

Instead I bought you flowers you’re allergic to and wrote poems about your tears

Some days I tend to over-romanticise your bleeding lips that you never stop biting
Other days I can’t stand the way your lips curve when you laugh and the freckles on your hands

I’m a mess but believe me when I say my hands are clean
I’m just trying to love you
Even if it’s the wrong way
I hope you get the message
Simpathi Nov 5
If you’d only hold on,
To my torn empty hands,
I can show you that pain,
Is not always a bad thing.

If you’d only open up,
And tell me your feelings,
I’ll hold all our tears,
Until reasons do not exist.

You say that love is far over,
The colors of dawn are only fading,
But ever since you’ve loved me,
I’ve felt compelled to disagree.

Love is nothing if there’s no end,
Time’s grasp having no effect,
So let’s make even more of this moment,
Before fear enters and holds us back.
So if love is nothing more than just a waste of your time waste it on me...
mjad Nov 4
The back of his head makes me shake my own
As I see him walk past me in the halls all alone

I wish my hands could be messing around in his hair
But I cannot force back feelings that just are not there
Lily Nov 3
Your hand in mine was
So warm, so calming,
So comforting.
Our fingers intertwined,
You squeezed my hand gently,
As if to say, “I’m here.”
I rubbed the top of your hand
With my free hand,
Trying to consume your soft skin,
Wanting not just your hand,
But all of you.
But when I look down at your hand,
It’s red and raw, blood
Rolling from your knuckles all
The way along your arm.
I pull away, disgusted.
I knew it was too good to be true.
Sometimes I like to hold my own hand. I like to hold it/ in a way a lover may. & i realise.
my hands are so small and delicate why don't I have somones hand to hold? Better yet, why do I invite literally anyone to break my hands?

When I look at my hands I see every memory of every boy I have loved. I see the very moment I held a man's hand.
How the spaces between our fingers fit perfectly, in harmony with one another. How we shared a very special moment before our lips met in the dark of a theatre surrounded by other experienced lovers and we just looked like kids.
You could've snapped my wrists, it would've been so easy to bruise me but you didn't. You were kind, you were gentle.

You were kind.
You were gentle

But now when I reach for your hands/ because let's face it my hands have such a great memory and they know every curve and nook of your palm. Your palm is empty.
I reach and I stretch so far but you keep on walking and I barely get to brush your hand.
Then the question lingers/ so thick I could cut it with a knife.
Have you forgotten me already?
Forgotten the passionate night spent searching for our intertwined fingers that wrap themselves in knots/the very same that stroked my hair so sweetly until I fell asleep/that held me so tightly as you whispered my name to calm my nightmares

These memories. They're trapped in my skin and you the culprit/placed them there so gently. Rattling like bees and I want to them free.
So I cut myself open and watch as every piece of you leaks out me.

No doubt my hands have only suppressed it's muscle memory. and if they saw you again, they'd wander around you.
They'd know, the shape to take as they patiently wait for your hands to learn the curve of my waist.
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