Holding hands wasn’t enough,
I had to memorize
Every cut and corner, bruised knuckles and calloused palms,
Nails, dirt, past;
He says I have small hands
His, they are too big,
So when our fingers interlock, we let gravity do its trick
And perfect our handhold;
Tickling pianos and strumming guitars,
We keep it simple, silly.



I've been writing poetry since I was a kid and my poetry is without fail a description of things that matter, to me. I pretend to not like love poetry. I have an insane love for popcorn!

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