Are supposed to be of warmth,
Like houses made for the heart of loved ones,
Whether hard and calloused,
Or soft and gentle,
They hold on for that sweet embrace.
Hands are supposed to be of safety,
Like a lifeboat on a roiling sea,
Slowly drifting towards home,
Protective against the crashing waves,
They never signal intention of harm.
Soon enough, though,
The bruises formed like
Photo albums of purple on my skin
And they replaced the smiles
That hung neatly in the pictures.
Hands are supposed to be of warmth,
Like houses made for the heart,
Whether rough and cold,
Or smooth and warm,
Skin against skin is meant to soothe.
Hands are supposed to be
Kristen Bui is a senior at Franklin Towne Charter School. Her dream is to one day become a professional writer, specifically for DC Comics. Reading and writing are her favorite hobbies, however, nothing touches her heart like a big, hot bowl of ramen noodles.