There are secrets hidden under finger nails. I have never been good at keeping my own secrets, by design.

I keep the secrets of others securely tucked beneath my toe nails, which have never been the bedfellows of my teeth.

My sixth sense is in my finger tips. I have been chewing away their armor for as long as I can remember. They feel things we did not evolve to feel, exquisite and unseemly, filling us with disgust. Addiction. The pacing of a caged beast.

I am committed to the haggard ugliness of my finger nails. Thirty seven years of undermined growth.

I accept that cartilage is an important source of nourishment for my slippery thoughts. Compulsively chewing and pulling and spitting. Leaving nail shreds like bread crumbs.

Wild claws and teeth must be worn down by ancient patterns, by wood and stone, cracking bones and running free. My claws and teeth turn on eachother. I feed my appetite for freedom my own flesh. I control my bleeding, my ugliness, and expose my shame. I belong to this compulsion.

The flesh and skin of my fingertips, once soft and sensitive, are exposed and calloused. They twitch like antenna. My claws will never be allowed to grow and my teeth are weak. I bury their sharpness and strength inside of me.

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