Love is an open hand
sweaty
flat
pulsing with something alive underneath
unfolded
empty
lined with wrinkles and softness
tightening
insisting
waiting to be claimed and shaped
its own lazy curve
its own flexing strength
it cries with too much silence
fill me
hold me
paint me
warm me
by K. J. , Arlington, MA
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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