Your seemingly passive-agressive,
soft, mushy texture
openly welcomed my hand.
Little did I know, you quickly
rejected my imprints as
I made them. As I trap you within the
cagey confinements of my
fingers, I sense your wasted efforts
of escape.
Worn out from the efforts of
those who try to
leave their mark on you, you have
become gritty.
The part of you which feels
different is who you are, but
if you won't take me in, I
will hold you,
forever.