Today I felt time in my cells, in little nooks
And under hairs and sitting on a skintag.
I feel the rasp of my sole, and as I step
my toes crackle on the kitchen floor.
My hands are crinkled, like sunken earth.
They are purpling and yellowing and
bubbling with dry white eczema stains.
The rents on my knuckles bleed.
My scales clutch at the bedsheet fibers
as I try to explain
that they will not find the sun there.
– Chloe Jacques
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