The touch of your hands
needed and dreaded
hands of a mother <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hands that held me as a baby
kept me warm and secure
hands that hit me as a toddler
as a child, when I grew older <\/p>\n\n\n\n
That hot smash on my face
the look in your eyes
stone-cold
full of hatred
full of triumph <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I began to fear your face
it indicated the coming of your hands
towards me, my face
as a punishment <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I began to resent your touch
your warm hands, too hot on my skin
a violation of personal space
trespassing from love to violence <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hands
a mother’s hands
palms and fingers
used as weapons
of intimidation
of domination <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was small and you were big The touch of your hands needed and dreaded hands of a mother Hands that held me as a baby kept me warm and secure hands that hit me as a toddler as a child, when I grew older That hot … Continue reading
so I learned to accept that
love comes with pain
I was taught
by the lessons
of your hands <\/p>\n\n\n\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/murban-voices.mur.at\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/hands3-1024x1418.jpg\")
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