Yes, You Can Hold My Hand

Yes, you can hold my hand,
but only if you understand that this isn’t just another step in your game,
aiming to reach something more,
because holding my hand doesn’t oblige me to give you anything else.
If you take my hand,
remember all the incredible things my hands can do;
the way they weave words from my tangled thoughts,
and bleed beauty out of colored pencils.
The way they have learned to dance across piano keys,
the melodies in my muscles,
no longer needing a mind to guide them.
Remember that my hands do not need your protection,
that I am proud of these calluses,
of the armor my fingers have spent a lifetime earning.
Remember that my hands were not made to be held.

And yes, you can kiss me,
but only if you like the shape of my smile more than the shape of my lips,
only if you know that saying yes once, twice, a hundred times, 
doesn’t mean I’ll say it again.
My lips are not a prize to be won, not a goal to reach,
because these are the same lips that feed me,
the same lips that speak for me.
You can kiss me, but only if you would be happy to sit beside me
and listen to the words that spill from those lips instead of tasting them.

If you want to, you can hold me,
but only if you know that holding me doesn’t make my body yours,
only if you give it the respect it deserves,
because this body is mine and only mine.
It has been with me through every struggle,
carried me, changed for me,
held me when no one else would.

The air my lungs breathe is only for me,
the blood my heart pumps is only for me,
my sweat and tears earned only by me.
My body is a map of history,
every scar a work of art pressed into my skin,
so if you hold me, understand that you are holding imperfection,
that I need you to find the beauty in those imperfections,
because I know it is there,
but there are still days when I can’t see it.

I want you to love my body not because it is a body,
but because it is mine,
want you to hold me because holding me is comfort,
want you to understand that holding me is a privilege,
one that you must earn again and again and again,
that I am both strong and fragile,
that I can be both strong and fragile at the same time,
that if you want my body,
you need to want me first.

So yes, you can touch me,
but only if you would still stay
if I told you that you couldn’t.

QueenofDawn

VT

YWP Alumni

More by QueenofDawn

  • Anxiety

    Anxiety twists bedsheets in its sleep,
    coughs up coffin nails,
    drowns out sounds with cotton swabs
    as it clutches a locked metal box to its chest.
    It hides daisies behind a silicone mask
  • Woman

    Woman is fuchsia falling apart in October, softly
    humming lullabies through an angel’s teeth.
    Woman is pomegranate seeds sliced into revolving stars,
    dissolving into marzipan, sweet
    honey dew hymn,