I can judge time passed,
by the chips in my nail polish.
It collects in the corners of eyes,
at the edges of mouths it lies.
Sometimes I look for it on my hand,
each scar like a grain of sand.
Other times it remains unseen,
hiding behind a laugh or scream.
I glimpse it in a backward glance,
but it stabs with pain as if a lance.
The jolting sensation to look at change,
to see how life does rearrange.
Then I go back staring at the ground,
Ignore it though my heart does pound.
And pretend the only sign of time passed,
are the chips in my nail polish.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
I can judge time passed,
by the chips in my nail polish.
It collects in the corners of eyes,
at the edges of mouths it lies.
Sometimes I look for it on my hand,
each scar like a grain of sand.
Other times it remains unseen,
hiding behind a laugh or scream.
I glimpse it in a backward glance,
but it stabs with pain as if a lance.
The jolting sensation to look at change,
to see how life does rearrange.
Then I go back staring at the ground,
Ignore it though my heart does pound.
And pretend the only sign of time passed,
are the chips in my nail polish.
Request permission to use this poem