Stained.

My hands are stained with ink
Uncleansed by any sink
Reminding me of words I meant to say

And this permanent reminder
Of words never spoken kinder
Has me begging to articulate those words I must convey

But my hands are stained with black
And all the confidence I lack
Though I try to wash them clean of this display

The words remain the same
Declaring love I can't proclaim
So I shut off all the sinks and bow my head in my shamed dismay