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Poem: Nails

I like them short. 

Not because they identify me
as a member of a particular group,
but because I like as little of the white there.

Every other day
I snip away.
A routine that borders on
Ritual.
I hack away at the hard,
Dead wall
Between raw flesh
And outside unknown.
The less between me 

And you,
The closer our flesh is.
The pinkness interior
Of it.
Them.
Not so much a glove
As an echo of a
Pulse.

But I cease to break down
The barriers of keratin anymore.
Let them grow unwieldy, formidable.
Claws.

For I am tough as nails.

 
 


This poem is part of the Orinam V-Day 2013 series called The Original L Word

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