pathetic but written, a thought trail

look at my hands
they are small things
and they grow smaller with distance
in them the reflection of the chocolate
in wrapper I meant to give you
and the regret in my back pocket
if you stripped searched me
you would find it
wrapped carefully
in repression paper
layers and layers of repression
so much it makes a bulge in my pocket
I am reminded to forget it
every time I sit down
the chocolate melts
deforming the wrapper in my hand
the small things that are hands
my tongue is smaller
and it gets stuck on the roof
of my mouth
behind my teeth
it feels like I am constantly spitting
instead of speaking
and I wonder if what I attempt say is venom
and if it was I meant to say all along
the chocolate oozes out of the wrapper
the aroma fills my nostrils
and binds to my cribriform plates
it is unmistakably chocolate
suddenly unwanted chocolate
too deformed and soft to be eaten
I guess few people want
to eat something that now resembles
poop
I hoped to give you more than that
waiting rots the plans, the hopes
I wonder what kind of compost that makes
or what flowers I could grow in it
plant them softly with my hands
my small hands
that look big on my wrists
but so small in the grand scheme of things
they are just small things
with five fingers anyway
I try to keep them clean
they define me
there are stains revealed under
black light
on these palms, on these fingers
I hide them in my back pocket
it is an awkward sight to see me
walk with them there
the chocolate stains them now too
my eyes leave them and wander
to the door
they watch as the small, dirty hands
pause, balled in a fist
the hand drops
the eyes wander to the side walk
walked a thousand times before
I could walk them backwards
with my eyes closed
one more trip
and I will forget
but not today

©julie simonson 2009