i painstakingly paint my nails every week last
week it was bubblegum blue. from up close
they must look so trite and clumsy. i need to stop
biting them, but blood from my fingertips
tastes sweeter than from anywhere else.
i know this, i don’t know why. sometimes
i like to pretend i am folding in on myself i am
jealous of origami swans and the way they know
how to bend in all the right places i am jealous
of their fragility my body is all too big, too sturdy
to bend it is all points and hard edges in places
not conducive for swan-ness i don’t know how to
unfold them. i keep dreaming of myself pulling out
my nails one by one to sell for something
i can never remember what i don’t think i should’ve been
given a body shouldn’t have been trusted with this one
bodies are made for worship and i can only hear
God’s voice at the bottom of my own desperation
my mother says why do you insist on ruining these
hands that God gave you? well, these hands came
with a lot of strings attached is it not obvious i am
trying to sever them. i am willing to make a trade,
however, i want a small metamorphosis. after all,
this thing that God loves most? i am willing to
give it back that is worth at least becoming a house cat
or a raccoon. my nails are bright red and it is not enough
to stop me from tearing into myself. my mouth is rattling
against its cage like an animal awaiting slaughter