In the Palm of My Hands

There’s a thought,

I sometimes have

I like to pull it right

Out of my head

Hold it in the palm

Of my hand

Poke and prod at it

Until it forms into

A more acceptable shape

Because I know better than to admit

That I think

All the things that I think or that

If I were to maybe cut into myself

Just enough to bleed!

That I might be able to bleed out

All the bad in me

And there is so much bad

That I don’t let anyone see

So, when I cradle these thoughts

Pull straight out of my head

When people get close

I crush it

Right there, in the palm of my hand

And then sanitize until

There’s no proof

It ever existed

Or that I ever bled

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