Hands

This poem takes a dark turn, you have been warned

Before it was all scattered

you look up 

into your mothers eyes

her smile mocks a mold

cracks in her eyes,

faint but apparent.

She's still young.

the sun is radiating 

from above onto your delicate skin.

Her hand is cold,

even though it's the midst

of summer.

Everything was sweet

like the sweets you pointed at

through the glass slide

You beg mother

she lets out a small, but enticing sigh

six dollars later,you both leave full of sweets.

Three years later,

all the kids at school

use the same point

at you.

your face.

your body.

crying alone

you look up

a familiar reaches.

Six years later

all the kids at school

now point to the better.

the prettier

the talented

the smart.

Five years later

all the kids scream

about who is new

who isn't you

the pretty

the strong.

the familiar lets go.

Only care about the pretty

the strong

the smart

the same hands

you used to point to the sweets

to hold onto mothers cold hand.

the same hands

that held a blunt to deal with the pain

that dropped the bottle from the bitter taste

the silk sheet embraces your fingertips.

before it was all scattered.

with one last breath

you pull with no haste.