thumbs raze it used to calm me to make a meal of my own uncooked meat. i would tenderize the dead cells on the underside of each thumb with the ivory knives that lined my mouth. when what i'd worn down was weak enough to flay superficial flesh from deeper dermis, i would pry it loose like a frightened fox with his foot ensnared. the wound only made me wince once the air got to it. my mother forced me to stop by robbing me of what i wanted most. my father had a gentler way of steering me from doing harm to the hinged levers on my still-growing hands. he devised a shroud for each damaged digit and drew a smiley_face on the front, fighting discomfort with unvarnished love. there are no scars to mark these moments as mine. only a series of sepia-tinged snapshots time hasn't yet erased from my mind. 250508 what's it to you? who go blather from