I am the giver of hugs,
The dispenser of caressing comfort,
The holder of those in need,
The squeezer out of pain and sorrow,
The shutter out of this world and its woe,
If only for a moment a head Upon my shoulder
Is free of sadness and sorrow,
Free of fear and frustration,
Safety resides within my embrace,
Sanctuary whence nowt can reach thee,

But right now it's the hugger
In hugging need,
That tap gushing
From a bottomless jug has
Just a hint of falter,
A tiniest reduction of pressure,
Insufficient for regard by others
But keenly felt by me,
Hints at limits being reached,
And I rail against that potential
Failure to project and protect,

So here I am,
Pouring out hugs,
While inside every sinew
Screams for someone,
Anyone in fact, to see ME,
See the pain and need,
See my faltering heart
And hope,
And step up,
Wrap me in THEIR arms,
Hold me and heal MY broken
Worn out heart a bit,

So I can hold and heal
Those many more
Still in need.

Robot shipping arms:

They’ve been reprogrammed for hugs.

For sale. Never used.

"Squeeze Please" presents as a cute word rhyme,
But its grip and depth
Is unique and sublime.
Part hug, some cuddle, but
More like a tickle...
It's fickle!!
Yet,
I sense familial love songs
When
My limbs contract to stop his wiggles-
And then,
Before he starts his giggles...
My knees squeeze...
That’s when I heard,
Without one word...

Squeeze because you love me;
Squeeze because I love you;
Squeeze because I feel protected;
Squeezing keeps we two connected.
Squeeze Please makes me feel secure.

Please squeeze... please... squeeze please me more.

Squeeze me to my happy place.
Squeezing tells me that I’m safe.
A squeeze will make me feel content
Your squeezes tend to give me strength.
Then Squeeze tight for respite and peace,
Like a weighted blanket as I sleep.
Squeeze me like a pet boa,
Squeeze because you're my own Granda.

I hear and listen when he says Squeeze Please;
That cute word rhyme really speaks to me.

(Now loosen and Squeeze Please some more.........................)

I need permission
To break through this invisible forcefield,
To give you a hug,
And make it not ******.
Yet...
We both know
It not to be true.

Some of my heroes wear
a cowl or a cape,
they might wield a shield,
swing from a web
or swing a big hammer.

Some of my heroes wear
a smile in the face
of foaming anger
and throw a mean hug
that will make you stagger.

I know who I'd rather
be my first responder.

My sister has curly hair
From day one
She has cut and burned it at every chance

Her hair is dark and thick
Like our fathers
I wish I had his hair instead

I wish the follicles on my head
Wernt thin and brittle
And quick to fall

Would that make me a man?

My sister has a flat chest,
My ******* have been called the best
My family and friends alike

She calls her own chest, childlike
If we traded, and my breath was unstressed
If they fell from my body

Would that make me a man?

What an unjust God
Who would give us bodies
That did not fit our souls

What cruel diety
Would leave us feeling
So cramped