Scraped knees,

Chipped fingernails, and

A rat's nest of hair.

I wish to return to my Eden without care.

Capillaries bursting just under my skin.

Before my trust wears down wafer frail.

There is an old Jewish myth that once,
     while Adam and Eve were still in Eden,
     when they and G-d were still in sync,

Their bodies,

From head to toe, were covered in

Fingernail.

Hard as enamel,

Brighter than the sun, and

Pastel pink.

They roamed their earthly microcosm

Free from fear of

Gashes,

Scrapes, and

Bruises.

I once lived in Eden, you see;

And I shall return again.

But she pinned her arm against my throat.

She laughed, as if I had just made a joke.

So, now I sit in a corner,

Amidst tiny shards of broken nails,

Hair, and

Skin,

Welding my own armor.

Iron,

Rusted,

But stronger than oak.

Higher than any border wall.

Deeper than any moat.

Her nonchalance burning a firebrand into my throat.

There is no light,

No pink,

No cloak,

Only a dark cavern.

A scar left over from her

Maternal garrote.

To forgive those silken tresses,

That double chin,

And those hazel eyes

Would be easy.

Like slipping into silk pajamas.

With memories of her soaking birthday cake in milk for me

While she sliced fresh-brought bananas.

But I'm not able to just yet.

Not while the scrapes on my knees are still healing,

While the blood is still wet.

I will return to Eden, though.

That's for sure.

After the fear has beat its final murmur.

Galump,

Galump,

Galump,

Go the heart palpitations.

The tears down my cheeks.

The retching sensation.

I stand in a pile of nail clippings,

Hair, and

Skin.

Like broken glass beneath my feet.

But no file can wear me down.

No inner cry of defeat.

For my Eden was here all along, you see.

Outside the infinitesimal garden of Adam and Eve.

The sun shines brighter out here,

Beyond the partition of her chocolate tresses

And her hazel eyes.

Bereft of birthday cake,

I can now touch the skies.

Feel the sun

Where once I could only feel enamel.

I used to scrape feebly against the encasement.

The words, “I love you,” now more than a blanket statement.

Still,

The nail clippings on the floor whisper to me,

“Gather us up,”

“Glue us to your skin once more,”

But they blocked out my air.

Smothered my pores.

So, I grab a feather and a dust pan

And place them in a drawer for safe-keeping.

But I will step outside.

See if these fresh seeds will bear reaping.

Try out this new armor.

Clanking and rusted as it may be.

For it is mine, you see.

Not the small garden with boundless fruit,

But freedom from the keratin suit.

I shall return to Eden.

That is for sure.

But for now I must roam.

Free from

Keratin.

Keratin.

Keratin.