Last time my nails were neon pink, I was fucking up something big but
still painting hope, not seeing the sabotage shadowing my skin.
Last time my nails were neon pink, they were not used for claws.
They were teeth-grazing lip-stick wipers and sheet-clenching fists.
Last time my nails were neon pink, they had a back to scratch.
They were prim and short and cracked, too tired to attack.
Last time my nails were neon pink, I tucked them in, daylight fangs,
and because of that, I think, I know, they don’t glow so bright no more.
Quick poetic regurgitation that needs a lot of editing. But I am house-cleaning right now and I am taking advantage of my gusto because the domestic goddess in me has been dormant all summer. Enough dust, enough clutter, enough laziness. I am cleaning out my life and starting over. Again.