A man is that hard rock,
Born with stiffness and no shivers,
Until it's pressed at the soft point
Between the right fingers.

He starts to feel safe inside your fist,
Listens, nods, and stays right where you are,
Making believe that sunlight is not for him,
Longs for the darkness over your palm.

A sudden thought, on some evening—
His touch gave you *****, ugly hands.
You let him fall from the space in between,
The one who became yours in a single press.

Then he is vulnerable, unseen, and unvalued below those shoes.
People might've noticed, might pick up, but he yearns for you.

A random day, in the park, you see a man—
Alone, squeezed his body at the very right of the bench,
Longing for somebody to stop by, to listen and not mend.
For once, not feeling sorry for him but
His words left your body feeling alone at the very left end.

What his eyes had witnessed, the broken trust he felt—
Hadn't the crushing below those shoes—
What she had.
I'm unrelated, and hesitant—I might say something wrong,
So I sit quiet, making him feel heard,
Hoping it wouldn't get passed on.