Poeta Nascitur, Non Fit

9

I cut my finger and nobody saw.

I have a cut on my finger that nobody will ever notice.

It's on my right index finger, I use it all the time.

I cut it on a pair of scissors i was holding irresponsibly

And it's right where anyone could see.

When I press on it the wound peels slightly in half.

I can't seem to stop looking at the layer of skin beneath.

I've imagined peeling the wound back, digging my left hand fingers deep into it,

Eating the skin and wrestling down to the bone.

It stares at me. Pricking in pain with every touch and yet

No one sees it.

A little red slit on my index finger that I use all the time.

If it were on my left I'd understand, since I'm not left handed.

But everything I do, I use my right, yet the cut just blends right in.

When I yelped in pain after cutting it no one even heard me.

I watched the blood perforate the skin and dried it with a receipt.

It will be gone soon. If I'm lucky it will scar.

More likely it will disappear, and leave me wanting more.

No one seems to notice the little cuts and bruises,

The things that keep me up at night just slip through other minds.

One day the cuts will form me, all my skin with blood will prickle,

And the things unnoticed, will come back to reap their score.