I look at my hand

Wondering... is it really there?

Does it really exist?


Why do I have it?

If I cannot touch,

then what is it used for?


I feel for my heart...

Does it really beat,

inside my chest?


Why is it in me?

If I cannot love,

why is it there?


Can you tell me?


Or am I so disconnected,

from reality?


But what is real?


This heart aches to love

These hands long to touch

This mouth yearns to scream

These eyes need to cry.


For me, this is real


Why is it wrong to want,

and be wanted?