Holding Hands

Holding hands is nice, when you think about it.
It's someone saying, "I want to touch you.
I want to be connected to you.
I want to feel the thump thump of your blood pumping
In the places where we are joined."
Because maybe their blood will pump in time,
and the connection becomes something more.

Holding hands is validation.
You are clean. You are good.
And even if you're not, someone thinks you are
because someone is willingly touching you,
touching the soft heart of their palm to yours.
You cannot hold hands with someone disgusting.
You could not stand the thought of their essence,
the filth of bad personality and worse character
that clings to their skin and is transferred to yours
like whispering spiders.

But what of those times when the grip is too tight,
when fingers like vices squeeze your hand and your wrist?
It makes the blood pump faster,
but is that worth the bruises it leaves behind?
You shake this hand off.
You try and wriggle free.
You push and you pull,
or maybe you don't,
because the hand's grip has made you numb.
You no longer feel the pain of that too-tight grasp.
You only feel the thump thump of their blood
as your own is trapped, fingers turning blue.