My Hands

Rougher than I'd like to admit - 

mishandling the important things with

my clumsy dexterity.

They often ache with want,

reaching for what they can't have,

trying to wring the nervous out when they

come up empty.

I blame them for my habit of hurting myself on others.

My hands -

greedy for validation that

they belong to someone worthy enough 

or lucky enough

or smart enough

to make sound decisions.

And when they look up and see they belong to me,

they're so ashamed that they cover my face,

like I don't know their motive.

All I can do is apologize (over and over)

for fucking up (over and over)

for bad judgement (over and over)

and promise them I won't do it anymore...

Then pray I won't.

And they forgive me time and again,

letting me off the hook

for illogical romanticism

or uneven reciprocity 

and my tendency toward victim hood

when I get what I knew I would

from #loveagainsorta - 

not enough.

They forgive me,

but vow not to wipe my tears if I break my own heart again.

Lucky for me...

all three of us are promise-breakers.