By Charlotte Shipstone
I must confess:
I have a dirty, nasty habit.
My cuticles are filthy, bloody, so very un-ladylike.
I’m anxious, I’m worried, I’m angry, I’m bored,
I’m quite happy, really—
I’m peeling off my cuticles, chewing off my skin.
I wonder if I pull enough,
If I keep ripping and don’t give up this time,
Will I unzip?
Imagine:
Hangnail lying in my finger bed,
hangnail running down my arm.
I’m pulling, pulling, pulling—
skin opening like curtains before a show.
I’m ready to perform.
I’m opening up for you.
I’m anxious, worried, angry, bored,
and quite happy, really.
Hangnail skimming up my neck now,
My mask peeling from the muscles beneath.
You’ll notice, I hope, how straight my teeth are,
How carefully I brush them—
My dentist always does.
My bones: white, perfect, shining (I assume).
My muscles: strong
from all the smiling I do for you.
You wanted to see me:
Here I am.
I am unclothed, naked in your bed.
I am peeling off my skin, naked in your bed.
I am red under you,
(blushing, bleeding, bare).
I am preening beneath your gaze.
Here—reach in. Touch my heart with your hand.
Here—feel how I clench for you.
Look. Here. Here.
Hangnail down my spine:
I can’t quite reach behind me—
Can you undo my zipper?
Yes, the zipper at the back of my dress,
Yes, the fly of my jeans,
Yes, the hangnail tracing the swell of my breasts.
Pull me apart. Undo me.
Your lips on my neck, hovering over my pulse.
Can you see the vein swelling with blood?
Can you feel my heart expanding in your hand?
I must admit:
I have a dirty, nasty habit.
Blood pools in my finger beds,
And now puddles at my feet.
I can’t help but confess:
I have a dirty, nasty habit.
I’m bleeding all over your floor.
I’ve made such a mess.
I’m sorry.
Let me undress fully.
Hangnail running down my legs.
This pesky skin is getting in our way:
I’ll take it all off, shall I?
I’ll show you where to touch me so I scream.
I’ll show you where to touch me so I cry.
I’ve hidden my desire to be vulnerable
under my left rib.
You see, I have a dirty, nasty habit.
I’d quite like to show you.
Yeah—just there.
Yeah—you can touch it.
No—you can’t have it.
Look, here is where he took from me.
Here is where the other did, too.
And here—this is where you’ll take from me.
And this is where you’ll stay, after I zip back up.
I must confess:
I have a dirty, nasty habit.
My cuticles are filthy, bloody, so very un-ladylike.
I must confess:
I have a wild imagination.
I can only imagine.
Myself, unzipped.
This piece was featured in the 2026 Winter Edition of Glass Magazine.
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