Clumps form between my fingers as I rake chewed-up nails through overstayed curls
No thoughts but the ones holding the doors shut on reason, I feel nothing, I am nothing, I resent nothing, I love nothing.
My hands, the same ones my teeth graze when I’m anxious,
that is to say always,
do not tremble because I do not allow it,
and though my stomach twists like curdled milk I will not remedy it.
Float to the bathroom with spotted vision
Stand upon the podium and ask for my number
a validating digit blinks at me,
validating the pain to quiet the growls inside.