Hands by Bet YeldemI stare at the lines on the palms of my hands -- remember the words you said -- see my reflection in every twist and turn until each crevice becomes a canyon in the dark.
My hands are shaky and cold. They sing your name when I am sleepless, clinging to the pillow beside me.
Today is my birthday. My age shows with the texture of my skin... I buy hand cream now trying to escape the inevitable changes; Yet some things remain the same.
When I'm bored, these hands fidget. When I'm nervous, they sweat. When I'm lonely, they always scream for you.
I struggle with the knife I hold -- this ink blade that seeks to cut out my heart and mail it to you beating and bleeding in black and white just to know you're holding it there in your hands.
07/05/2002 Posted on 07/05/2002 Copyright © 2025 Bet Yeldem
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