It comes up again and
I don’t use those mindfulness techniques
taught by a kind, useless therapist.
Instead, my fingers seek out edges,
worry them, tinkering, toying
like cracked paint on an overused door frame.
I want to pick it clean so it shines bright as bone
make it all done, over
and let myself feel clean, bright, new.
But it splinters at my touch
mock confetti all over my mind
I try to tidy up and
the shards jam into the tender flesh
under my fingernails
I’ll be wincing for days.
Hannah Stephings (she/her) is an emerging poet and writer, based in Edinburgh. She is a regular contributing writer for the City Girl Magazine and her has poetry appeared both online and in print in The Loft Books Anthology, Horse Egg Literary Journal and SNACK magazine amongst other publications.