Hands hands hands.
Hands all around me.
Hands that trace my lips.
Hands that pull my clothes.
Hands that pinch my skin and trail down my back and punch my arms.
Hands that no one else feels.
Hands that are not real.
Hands that leave me shaking, crying, hurting everywhere.
I go to brush them away.
They are still there.
I want them to stop, I beg them to stop, I scream at the top of my lungs
But they do not.
Because they are just hands.
Hands that do not belong to anyone.
Hands that are not there.
Eliza Crawford's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Hands by Eliza Crawford )
- Languidness, Justin Reamer
- Knowledge, Justin Reamer
- The Truth, Tony Adah
- National feeling, Asit Kumar Sanyal
- Key to my Dreams, Saturday Chikezie Promise
- Just want to tell you, Saturday Chikezie Promise
- I really want to be with you, Saturday Chikezie Promise
- Moon fever, ramesh rai
- Emotions at the door, Saturday Chikezie Promise
- unpredictable love, Saturday Chikezie Promise
Poem of the Day
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
- Heather Burns
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)