you are looking so dead and mangled

Hands

I was born with ugly hands,
To cover them up I always wore gloves.
My hands were something,
I could never love.

My fingers were too stubby and fat.
They grew itchy and dry.
Puss oozed out of the cracks they had,
Why were they like that? Why?

My palms were rough,
And awfully red,
They will always be sweaty,
Unless I’m dead.

They shake too often,
So I write a bit scrambled.
My skin peels off,
It makes my hands look mangled.

I can never draw pretty,
Everything has shaky lines.
My hand writing is ugly,
But at least it rhymes.

My nails are disgusting,
No amount of polish can help me.
I chew them up and spit them out,
It’s my fault, you see?

It’s such a small thing to care about,
Yet it bothers me so,
I can’t greet or hold hands,
Back into my pockets they go.