the embarrassing truth
is I’ll look you up
the way I used to
suck my thumb.
It was a compulsion
that lasted too long,
and I’d hide it,
pretend I was one
of the normal ones
who could fall asleep
without this drug.
except the calluses
on both sides
gave me away.
once, my mother
put this pungent liquid on it.
my child’s mind
remembers that round bump
turning green.
so I’d just switch hands.
and I can’t describe
why I loved it so much.
I’d get these scratches
right where my brow
met the bridge of my nose,
from fingers dug in too deep.
I’d be instantly soothed
by the scent of my own palm,
which I can still smell
if it’s cupped under my jaw
in frustration.
It was strangely bread-like,
sometimes like when
strawberries stain your skin—
a heavenly smell
that made me feel
both sad and held.
Thoughts?