I have taken a liken to my hands, to the way you left them.
Mangled bruises but only on the surface.
Beneath you left me with tactile changes of my character.
I trace these lines to their source
And find they run much deeper than this feigning of disingenuous compromises
Bent over the wrong way to let the light in.
You left lipstick traces on the damaged parts of my soul
Kisses make better in time
Spirited-away from the paradise of inconvenient choices
Childhood dreams drumming up trauma buried deep beneath the surface of my hands
I wish you would leave traces of healing, rather than the fickle hope that you breathe into existence.
My existential crisis has borne fruit from fragile fingertips and distant laughter.
Breaking the bonds of obligation to a master I could never truly understand
I wish you would leave the parts of my soul intact