i hate these hands

i wish i hated these hands for the way they looked; i wish i hated my bitten-down fingernails, or my stubby fingers, but i hate my hands for the destruction they leave in their wake. i hate my nails because they scratch and they claw until crimson leaks from a crescent wound, i hate these fists as they leave bruises like stains on the fabric of my skin; reminders of all the bad memories and all the late nights on cold bathroom floors with sleeves rolled up and minds racing, i hate these fingers as they tremble like a leaf in the strongest of winds when i wonder who i am supposed to ever be but these hands have trembled for thirteen years and i will not let my shaking fingers hold me back from trying to grasp my future, i hate these hands connected to wrists connected to arms to shoulders i am ashamed of these arms and these legs for these memories i’ve left upon them, the kind of memories you can graze your finger over and flinch at the touch. i will hide these hands away for no one should have to link their fingers with fingers that have brought nothing but harm.