Brittle Bird Bones

November 15, 2010
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Brittle Bird Bones

If these hands could talk
They would tell you
About baby birds
Cupped between palms
About wishing on
Those brittle bird bones
And telling them
Not to break
These hands would tell you
To love the scars
On your palms
Across your shoulder blades
Because they tell stories
They tell stories
If these hands could talk
They would tell you
To love your imperfections
They make you beautiful
They make you unique
Because there is nothing real
About perfection
These hands would tell you
To STREEEEETCH to the sun
Because once, they found
Fire there
And heat
Icicles melted
Off of fingertips
But they wont let you
Hold them
These are selfish hands
These are SELFISH hands
They are mine
To hold against my chest
Until my heart slows
Out of that
Ba-boom, ba-boom rhythm
And into a sweet
Slow beat
Don-don-don
Don’t get lost in it
I warn you because then
If these hands could talk
They would tell you
About the secrets
Whispered into open palms
Oh, so fragile
Breakable like baby bird bones
Though they aren’t as
Innocent
If these hands could talk
They would tell you
That they are
Brittle bird bones
And although you will
They wish you wouldn’t
Break them
Because then the
Secrets would spill
And ice would harden
Across my shoulder blades
And these selfish bones
These SELFISH hands
Wouldn’t talk at all.





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