Loveliness (lʌvlinəs )
My back twists, and I can’t sit straight. Legs this way, back pivoted the other. Shoulders always sloped one way, fixing them is like dancing awkwardly. I sit straight and my head feels like it could topple off.
Using my thumbnail I lift each fingernail just until it begins to hurt. One at a time. Index, middle, ring, pinkie, and finally I use my middle finger nail to lift my thumbnail. Never snapping, always quietly. Sometimes on the steering wheel when I drive. It’s the only thing to keep me awake.
With I fine tipped pen, I take the words in my head and I spill them onto smooth notebook paper. When I’m writing I imagine I look stunning while I do it. Somehow I imagine I look as lovely outside as my penmanship does on the paper. Once I even took a picture and I was so frustrated upon seeing my furrowed brow and horrible posture. My claw-like left hand lifting fingernails one by one, and awkwardly holding the pen in my right.
I am wading in adulthood, surrounded in decision making. Discovering that loveliness is not a gift you can slip on on your seventeenth birthday, but rather something you acquire. Maybe even a journey.
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