jealousy lies where their fingers wrap around each other

i cannot force these hands to make things that cannot be made
but i will try to force them to do things that they were not made to do
i'm pushing so hard these days to feel anything
anything with these hands
the same hands that never gave me a talent
and are hard enough to look at
these hands that could not be collegiate
could not make symphonies
could not write the words worth reading
could not make a better daughter
could not stop you form poisoning yourself
could not reach fourpoint "oh"
these hands that hold everything worth wanting
but nothing inside
the hands that have no others to hold
smash them and they will break into a million pieces
because they are hollow these days
and i cannot do anything or say anything that will fill them
just empty
like porcelain figures
along with this face
they're the same
painted beauty on the outside
beautiful dolls
with frills and diamonds
but on the inside
no color
and cold
and hollow
sitting on the top shelf collecting dust
to sit and be admired
but never touched
and so everyone heeds this warning
like i wear it upon this porcelain back with these hollow cold hands