Visibility

I was scrolling

and the light caught it wrong.

My nail.

The crescent that should be white

is barely there anymore,

hidden under the swelling,

under the red that won't go away.

I've been picking at the skin

around the base

for weeks now,

maybe months,

I'm not keeping count,

but my body is,

my body remembers

every time I sat with my hands

and decided to make

something worse.

The cuticle

is raw.

The nail bed

shows underneath

like a secret

I didn't mean to tell.

I could stop.

I know exactly where the damage is now,

I can see it clearly,

the nail shorter than it should be,

the flesh around it

inflamed and tender.

But my thumb finds it anyway

when I'm not thinking,

when I'm looking at my phone,

when I'm sitting in a room

with other people

who have hands

that work correctly.

I pull the skin back.

I feel the small pain

that isn't pain exactly,

it's just the sensation

of doing something

you're not supposed to do

to yourself.

The white crescent

gets smaller.

The red spreads.

And I watch it happen

like it's happening to someone else,

like I'm just a witness

to what my hands decide

to do when I'm not paying attention.

But I am paying attention.

That's the thing.

I see it.

I see the damage.

And I do it anyway.