Unspoken dignity perished my hands,

My touch,

The thing that stands between

Knowledge

And hope

My fingers brush against a surface,

I hope that it’s your skin,

But I know

It is a concrete wall.

I feel my hand turn warm,

I hope for body contact to be the reason why,

Whilst I voluntarily place my hand into a burning flame.

I hope for you to see

The pain you cause,

By not being the reason why

My hand is burning.