Nails


My nails are a perfect representation of myself,
An irony.
Cracked and damaged and bleeding,
My heart is worn from heartbreak and abuse.
From the peers who stomped on my stomach in daycare,
To the boy who said I was an old car not worth saving.
Short like my temper,
Fueled from never saying all the things I have needed to say.
From the people who destroyed me,
To blaming myself for everything that goes wrong in my life.
My cuticles hurt from constant tearing.
The blood is a hot reminder that I am still human.
Their imperfection reminding me that,
Just like them,
I will never be good enough for the people I love the most.
Just like them,
I am permanently damaged,
And no matter how much work I put into them,
No matter how hard I try,
We will always be sick and broken.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem