Hands

You are not
what most people
would call a catch.

You’re wounded in
a way that wounds
anyone who attempts
to get close to you,
under the guise of a
newly turned over leaf.

You say you
don’t mean it
and maybe you
don’t really know
that really, you do.

You say you’re unlovable
and that may be true.

But that’s only because
you never figured out
how to love yourself
and so any attempts
to the contrary are
perceived as attacks
and dismissed
out of hand.

But all I ever wanted
was to hold your hand.
~2/23/15

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