here you are, you broken nail
clinging to the edge of my finger,
still attached and nagging at tender skin.
you dangle there on your own, disconnected
from the usual filed, painted hooks;
a stray claw. i don't know if i should
pull you off and if i do, will you take
a piece of me with you?
shall i let you hang here
just a little while longer?
i couldn't clip you off,
although it would be less painful.
but you're nagging at my finger again.
i can't stop thinking about
you and your perplexing existence.
i could care less about you.
it's my own fault, really,
for not being as conscienscious
as the other good girls.
which drawer did i stuff
that nail file in? and why
must i continually be
chipping away at my polish?
i should take control of these
uncivilized fingers; these
shameless nails; unrestrained growths.
i should scrub away the dirt
that still dwells beneath them. however
you are not the dirt beneath my fingernails.
you are not my whole nail. you mean nothing
to my hand. you should be insignificant.
perhaps if i drank more milk
i wouldn't be so fragile.
if i wasn't so weak-nailed
i wouldn't crack the way i do.
but you persist with your existence.
you're a sharp, captivating splinter
in my mind, nagging at my thoughts.
i couldn't care less about you.
