dermatillomania by Isabella Setudeh Nejad (17, California)

i admire her perfect hands, 
seemingly sculpted by aphrodite herself. 
her flawless nail polish flaunts itself 
like the glaze of a pot fresh out of the kiln.
my fingers are shredded and ravaged, 
providing a humorous disparity 
for only the gods to laugh about.

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while i pick and gnaw at the little left of me,
she decorates herself 
in exorbitant sterling silver and gemstones.
for what blemishes does she possess? 
dried blood garnishes my mangled fingers
to which i have lost complete control of, 
my compulsion is one beyond mental jurisdiction. 

i hide my blooded lesions with everything imaginable.
yet band-aids, gloves, and wraps do little to make this
a covert presence. 
the imperfections i scratch out of my flesh
only multiply around my cuticles. 
my nails are tired, worn from stress, 
what else is there to do but conceal it? 

i lust for the day my hands replicate hers,
when i can wave at a friend with confidence,
or purchase the same silver rings. 
when blood will not wash off 
the tips of my fingers 
every time the sink is turned on. 
it is only a matter of when.

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