i beat my cuticles every day. succumb them to my stained teeth that pull their skin like how i pull wrapping paper off of presents: smooth, abrupt & swift.

the blood usually follows, pooling in the ridges of my nails where they meet my skin. an outline that soon turns burgundy.

i sit on them. i’m embarrassed of them. they are ugly.

but my body doesn’t see anything but a problem to fix. every day they get better before i make them worse. the tiny cells of my body are hard workers, resilient to my cuticle abuse. they are mine,

& they want to heal me.

(1/3/20)