Cut 'Em Off [Rogue]
My hands are the only thing stopping me from loving, being loved, feeling touch.
This part of my disheveled body, the only part meant for people to reach out to, unwilling to cooperate with normal people.
Always encased in thick, terrible, white satin. Covered, for if they weren't, would kill people, make people hate me.
Maybe they already do. I am, to a degree, unlovable. Out of touch, untouchable.
I will never get married, never kiss someone without consequence.
My children will never be able to hug me without a hazmat suit. This is the way life intended for me to be.
This is what I get for being born.
I didn't know being born would cost me all the love I will never feel.
This will never change. The cure will never find me, as much as I attempt to look for it.
This is a constant, as Hank would say. The unchanging variable. The one thing that ruins me, and everyone around me.
I am not meant to be loved, to be touched, to be hugged, embraced.
These gloves will always encapsulate me in the most painful, aching way.