untitled

paint splattered
with the remnants of the afternoon's masterpiece
aching
stretched as far as they can go
from hours spent pounding the keys
polished with deep plum
to match tomorrow's socks
scarred right about the left thumb
from childhood
and summer

once you held this hand in yours
once you touched it with what you called love
but i never received it

my hands are as callous and uncaring as my heart must be
marked with clues
as to who i am
parts of me
you never quite bothered to see
not realizing or understanding
but who really understands?

if i had taken your love
would it have mattered?
not at all
for you haven't appreciated these paint splattered hands