Unsure

Sometimes I am unsure of what to do with myself 

like my hands are yearning to touch something 

To feel something 

Yet they refuse to reach out

It is quite counterproductive,

And I know this.

At times my heart cries out for connection 

Constantly Exhausted by fake hellos an nonchalant goodbyes

my mind stands on guard preparing to cut any cord that dare attempt to implant itself 

Like It knows I have nothing left to give 

Like My heart is somehow unaware 

I give until my fingers bleed 

staining everything I touch in crimson 

Leaving evidence of me everywhere 

I do not know how to be surface 

I do not know how

To hold back 

Or stop the shaking in my hands 

As I hand you the last piece of me,

I hold my breath 

Praying there are still good people in the world 

And that for once

I get it back.

-B-