She holds her head in her hands.
Pulling handfuls, from the roots.
Her knuckles tighten and her nails simultaneously pinch and dig.
This self-inflicted pain numbs her core, if only for a moment.
From the corners of her thumbs, she will lift her nails. Separtaing them from the skin.
She has this bite right. Layer after layer until the taste of blood satisfies her. Tapping the sides and tips of her fingers on hard surfaces reminds her the pain still lingers.
Working her way through the rest eight fingernails.
Twirling her hair is her nervous energy but once she begins, there is no end. Slithering through her fingers with the last flip under her nose. She closes her eyes at the softeness above her lip before she tugs, giving her root a hug.
She fidgets, day in and day out.
What’s that about??
With bated breath, she enters the room. Scanning the room before she gasps. She does so thinking her anxiety will pass.
Gum keeps her thoughts steady. As steady as can be for a twitchy girl. Her leg bounces higher in loud spaces. Small, metal bistro tables rattle an annoying rhythm. But bounce she must. Lord forbid she start to fuss.
Girl, ain’t afraid to cuss.
Rigid are her edges,
a calloused heart encaged. Hasn’t seen the light in ages. She chops it up to phases.
You see, she is ok as is,
it is others who find discomfort in her twirl, bite, bounce, chew, and twitch.
The result, in which…
has turned her into a cold-hearted bitch.