Look at your hand.
Is it soft, or
Rough with age or work?
Is it small, big?
I like to think that
No matter what it looks like,
Under all those layers of smooth or rough,
It holds the people you’ve touched.
But you see, in my generation, we don’t normally touch.
We sit in our little personal bubbles,
Longing for that brush of a hand or bumping into a shoulder.
We crave affection, yet we judge others for showing it.
I, for one, long and wish to have
Someone kiss me on the cheek,
Play with my hair, just say ‘good morning’ with something other than just a high five.
But I’m afraid I might get called out of the crowd for doing so.
Teens nowadays are scared to touch. We think that
Someone’s gonna, like, judge us,
Or, maybe, mock us for wanting to express how we feel towards others.
It’s sad to think that we can’t hug our friends in public because we’re scared.
That we can’t play with someone’s hair in public because we’re scared.
Scared to be wrong.
The inside of my hands are null and void
Because of being scared to touch.
I’m afraid that
I might just go insane
Lose my normal brainwaves
Because I have lost
My sense of touch.