Photo by J. R. Korpa
Hurt Containers
A. Michael Schultz
And so we sit
with palms tucked in our laps
quiet but cautious of touching anything
out of fear it might touch back
that it will expect us to do the same
because cycles rarely break
themselves, and people break
before they get the chance
Your eyes remind me there’s a story
written somewhere in these hands
one that used to read like hope
gauzing a volume of love songs
around its busted knuckles before
realizing they were weapons
Now, they’re just hurt containers
holding all this real until someone
finds a home for it
but until then, we try not to flinch
every time it bangs into the glass
walls of us that are so close to breaking
A. Michael Schultz
And so we sit
with palms tucked in our laps
quiet but cautious of touching anything
out of fear it might touch back
that it will expect us to do the same
because cycles rarely break
themselves, and people break
before they get the chance
Your eyes remind me there’s a story
written somewhere in these hands
one that used to read like hope
gauzing a volume of love songs
around its busted knuckles before
realizing they were weapons
Now, they’re just hurt containers
holding all this real until someone
finds a home for it
but until then, we try not to flinch
every time it bangs into the glass
walls of us that are so close to breaking