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Argument #183739
October 24, 2014
Nails nicely painted,
calmly placed on my lap.
I look up at their faces
red with anger, mouthing the utmost horrible remarks.
My hands picked at each other as if I had an itch.
Nail polish is chipping.
The modest green kitchen walls seem more dull
then ever.
One hand has no polish anymore
lap filled with black nail polish.
my hands seem to hate each other
everything is in slow motion.
As I stand and walk to my bedroom
a million chips of nail polish fall
swiftly to the floor
my prisoner nails now free.
© Jennifer H., Bethesda, MD
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This is a piece of me while my parents argued.