This Feeling Inside
This Feeling Inside inside stories
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turtling
turtling cigarettes, coffee, chaos and cuss words
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
Where people have organs, I have hands inside of me.

This Feeling Inside

I have hands inside of me. They're trying to get out. I have a lot. A lot. Maybe four. Maybe a hundred. Maybe more. I have hands inside of me.

I have a small body. All five feet of me is filled to the brim. Where people have organs, I have hands inside of me. Slim fingers. Stubby ones. Rough calloused palms. Porcelain tips.

I have hands inside of me. Scratching... Scratching... Trying to claw their way out. I want them to stay. I hold my breath and hope and pray. And pray and pray over and over again. That they don't know what I know. That I know that they want to leave.

At night, I lie awake thinking of reasons why I'm still here. I know it's to be a home. For all of the hands inside of me.

Each with five fingers-some with more-some with less. Some with two-week old chapped nail polish. Some with dirt still under their fingernails. I take a slow breath. Just one. In. Out. Then another.

Scratching... Scratching... Like nails on a blackboard. Only the blackboard is my skin and they're clawing in the dark and sometimes it hurts and it stings and I can't take it but...

I take a deep breath. In. Out. I have to protect them. I press down on my chest. They're all gathered here tonight. It's heavy. I hope that they know what I know.

I have hands inside of me. They're all I have. Don't go. I don't want to be alone.

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