My Red Hands Poem, by Salem, at My poetic side

I knew from young

I told my mother

I want my insides out

I want the organ that bleeds

To bleed itself to death

“Danger!” She warned me

To hold part of myself in my hands

And watch it bleed

It’s not so different

From her arms around me after I fall

I bleed, and bleed again, forever and always

I’ll bleed once

only once I say

And on my life

Written in blood

My red hands

Won’t be stained

with the blood

of a new generation

Comments +

sorenbarrett February 14th, 2025 05:18
A wonderful metaphor here of the bleeding inner self and childbirth. There is much to be read into this poem that holds its own wisdom. Very nicely done.

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My Red Hands