My crooked fingers long to paint, to scribe
Only these braces will never loosen
Shackles hung around my wrist until fallen and tight
Familiar helping hands holding me back
Soft hot touches sear
Untraceable marks, tanned, all skin
Drilled in stories, can’t be taken back
Shameful glances set aside
Don’t tell me
…. Just, don’t say that
Unable to rid myself of the plague
I fight harder
Keeping myself away, creating, to stand
In a perfect circle
So you never hear
The sounds of my body falling
And so to never pollute
I guess this is new to us both.
