My mother has the prettiest hands. When she isn't hurting me with them.
Long and slender with perfectly manicured nails. Her fingers always seem so skilled to cook, sew, and play the piano. Those are the things she does when she isn't so crazy and angry.
Today I'm a dirty girl. He has left his stinging warmth behind and it must be washed away. Shame has a color and it's red. I try to hide it but she sees. I can't pretend that she doesn't already know but it's the game I have to play.
Look at you... what a dirty girl... you are getting blood on my bath mat... you disgusting whore.
Her words sting just as bad as he does. I wish her hands would help me. Comfort me. Love me. I stand in the tub of water waiting for her to tell me when it's time to sit. Her calloused hands touch my shoulders as she forces me backwards onto the tiny corner of a ledge where the tub meets the wall. My head hits the tiles and my eyes burn with tears.
I am sitting on that little ledge as her beautiful hands force my legs apart at the knees. Her slender fingers no longer feel so slender. Her manicure is razor sharp as she plunges into my shame. I shift my eyes and work to melt into the calm, white tiles around me.
Look at me... watch what you make me do.
Her manicure is red as she writes my words on the tiles.
I tear my eyes away and feel flush with those tiles. I sink even further as those cold, white tiles become my greatest comfort. I feel her hand but only as a glancing touch. I hear her screams but only as a whisper. I watch that little girl so far away and I am numb to her hate.
I wish that I could stay this way forever.
Hanging On No More
19 hours ago