Hangnail
A Poem by Kelsey Edwards
Picked and pulled and plucked
from each of my
fingers bitten and bruised
Please never grow back
but they always do so I
pick and I pull and I pluck
and I pinch and I punch
myself to
make
me
stop.
But I don’t know how.
Please tell me how
tongues that aren’t mine move,
ears that shouldn’t hear do,
eyes that never saw have.
All lies that cover the truth.
The past has passed
this too will pass
now let me pass- it’s past my time,
my bedtime.
Ha! I’m stuck in bed now
let me sleep, I want to sleep
but my nails are bitten
and I’m starting to bleed.
I picked too much but it’s
not enough so I
look back at my—
(Return to title)
A Statement by Kelsey Edwards on her process
I am an anxious person, that is no doubt. Bus rides, bike rides (but surprisingly not train rides), new people, familiar people, drain covers, conversations, the way I speak, the way I don't know how to behave around different people, options, my mum's health, taking care of my plants: these all fuel my anxiety. And they are all a part of my daily life. Hangnail explores my compulsive and erratic thoughts and behaviours that I really should change but never seem to be able to. I recently picked one of my hangnails, or whitlows, as my mum calls it, so much so that it tore a line down my pinkie and was swollen and red and weirdly glossy for days. Hangnail was written in distraction, to help me stop doing the things that I know are unhealthy but have become habit. Ironically enough, I started it on the bus and finished it whilst waiting to meet someone new.