Nails

If you want to know if I’m okay,

notice my nails. It’s unlikely you care,

but that night in the park my nails were beautiful,

and grown, and a seductive shade of pink. My pride and joy,

a literal representation of the growth that can happen when I’m

permitted to breath.

Now, oh god, now they are bitten, and crooked, and cracked, and

bleeding. The nails of a girl who spends the night sick with the fear that love won’t find

her. The nails of a girl who lives without you.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s