I hate the hands 

The hands are greedy, grabbing without remorse at what they want

The hands can grab without worry, and as a young girl the hands create cracks into my brain like a chisel chipping away at the innocence of my mind

Their hands, like hungry dogs snipping and gnawing at me like fresh meat. 
Leaving me a skinny shell of a dog 

Where you can see my bones pressing through my skin 
Can you see indents, In place of where their hands lie? 

The holes I tore into my thighs, as I too began to gnaw and scratch at it like the hands once did? 
Hoping to release the skeleton beneath my skin of glass
Or maybe to be a skeleton, a bone

The hands would have not enough meat to grab. The dogs would have nothing to chew on 

And I would be left in the eye of the hurricane before it caused it’s destruction 

I found it in blips, minor moments where I could escape.
Slip into the cracks in my brain finding a place where it was quiet. 

I stay there as long as I can, I rest in the quiet until the hurricane imminently sweeps me up into it. Engulfing me into reality




Kamira 
Pink marble is a piece of what I did to cope with the sexual assault I endured during my childhood. The poem alludes to how sexual assault caused me to self-harm and disassociate to try and block out the thoughts or memories of the assaults..

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