My Hands Are Not Red
My hands are not red,
But they feel like they are.
My hands are not dirty or immoral,
But I think they are all the time.
My hands have not killed, nor raped,
But sometimes I think they have,
Sometimes I wash my hands.
I try and clean them the best I can.
But I still feel the redness on them,
Their dirtiness, the scoundrels.
I don't know what they did.
I don't know how.
But they did something, and it was no fault of mine.
But I am to blame.
My hands are red.
And you may not see it,
But I know you know it's there.
Comments about this poem (My Hands Are Not Red by Lee Gelis )
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