Monday, April 16, 2012

hangnails



I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
Pull me out from inside
I am folded and unfolded and unfolding



I glance at my cuticles and immediately despair. They look disgusting. 
They look disgusting because I made them that way. That's the worst part. You're not allowed to complain about a situation that you created.

Because once you start picking at them, it’s impossible to stop. It’s addictive. You just keep picking and picking and picking and pulling and pulling and pulling and peeling off a hangnail here, and tearing off skin there. Blood seeps out. Gross. You suck the red liquid off your finger til your saliva clots the jagged ragged tear of skin.
Then it gets infected. It turns and angry red and protests fiercely when unwanted pressure is applied. Then pus comes--oozing out of the cut, making you shudder with disgust. 
Time for hydrogen peroxide. 
A band-aid. 
Neosporin. 
Something soothing, to rehydrate the poor skin.

My cuticles are beautiful again.

But then.
  
Look. A hangnail.
  
It starts all over again.

"Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good."--Romans 12:21

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