Excuses

My nails dig into my palms

leaving red crescents imbedded into the soft pink flesh

No callus to protect

Although

This is such a native action,

that my hands should have built a

protective coating.

To save me

from myself.

I fight the urge

to rip strands of hair

from my scalp

Unlike my hands,

this damage has a byproduct

I can’t just leave strands of hair

on

the

 floor

“Excuse me”

Exiting the room

Running

sprinting

To the bathroom

The toilet takes all I have inside

my stomach.

My insides

fucking burn

My hands are scrubbed.

No more crescents,

just soft lines.

My hair is brushed.

Pulled into a tight bun,   

Not one out of place.

My insides though,

those still fucking

burn.