it will be nice to put my gloves on again
pretend that i am invincible.
a thing i [clearly] am not
with the cold i will have the excuse to cover their shame
pretend that under that flat color there are not two disfigured hands.
they have touched everything,
... held such beautiful things
and hurt with such impunity
and carressed with such delicacy
and harmed with so much cruelty
they have carried my shame
they have been the image of my affection
they have given everything
in them i feel the pain of the sunflower
i feel the thirst of the orchids
and i seek to absolve these things
by absorbing them, and knowing their pain
and knowing their thirst
...by touching them.
-i shouldnt touch them-
it has brought me so little positive
& so much woe at same time
thats the problem with feeling
it is a paradox of unparalleled magnitude
this hurt is mine alone
and so few can relate
those that can, console me...
they understand what this is like
and they make my time a bit easier
and they comfort me
to which i realize; i dont want to be consolidated
above all else; i want to feel.