Refining
A poem about masking, recursive compulsion, and the cost of redirecting the nervous system
I used to bite my nails.
I’d bite and
pick,
peel and rip,
hellbent
on leveling my imperfections.
I’ve grown since—
I mean,
see how well I
present,
how I file and check,
file and check,
refine and check
my nerves
and sharper edges. ∞
