Her Hands

She holds her thumbs inside each fist to hide the scabby nubs. 

The moist environment of her hands squeezed tight hosts the spread of the tiny warts that bubble tentatively alongside her nail bed and lower lip. 

Her hands always seem to be in need of a wash; dirt and paint hide wherever they can find cover in this minefield of scabs and picked at flesh.  Marker is smeared along the sides of her palms, hands too heavy to lift off the paper as she draws. 

Crusty edges of black nail polish are preserved where the cuticle has overgrown the moons. 

Obsessed with nail clippers (and sharp objects in general), her nails are trimmed beyond the white, exposing the tender pink webbed flesh underneath. 

Straggly bits of nail are torn off at angles with her teeth, creating sharp points that cause scratches not only to herself but to others that get too close. 

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