Nails.

 

My nails are black with a red stripe down the middle. They are short from being bitten, from being clipped out of boredom. My sister's nails are beautiful and pink, a glistening pretty pink. My mom's are red, pure red and short from her work. They are chipped, the paint is coming off: I need to repaint hers, tidy them up, reorganized it, and maybe change the color. My brother's nails are long and disgusting. They need to be clipped, to be washed. Is there a nail polish that can make a boy's nails clean? But of course boy's nails should be nasty, for little boys will run and play in the dirt.

 

I think I should change my nails. I know how to make this beautiful purple color that shifts between green, blue, silver and back. It looks amazing to me and, as my dad says, freakish. The perfect word for my nails, for me: Freakish. And shall I never be anything else.