I had a lot of love in me to give but girls never saw me. It wasn’t dark or anything. I just didn’t have the glitz, the glamour, to shine through to them. My wardrobe was lacking. I was broke. I still am.
And then I met Simi. She saw me. Maybe the extra lenses from her prescription glasses aided this. But Simi saw me anyway, and we rhymed like the words in this piece. We rhymed like lemon and lime, like curry and thyme.
Simi spiced up my life. I never ate her cooking though. She spiced up the parts of my life I’d already given up on. First, she taught me to kiss. Then she taught me to use my hands. And then my fingers. And then the real thing.
It was all perfect, infallible, faultless, until there was a fault. Her fingernails. It killed something in me to see them looking so jagged, so bedraggled, like my life before her arrival, like the nails on a farmer. It dwindled my love.
Call me insane, but it made me wonder if I should put myself out there again, if I should try with other girls, you know, to see if I finally got game.
You can’t blame me though. A wise man once said ‘women who bite off their nails are capable of murder’. OK. That’s untrue. It’s made up. But, those nails, you would be disillusioned too if you saw them. And IF YOU’RE A GIRL, you would know, like I do, that not even in 08036725280 years will those nails ever succumb to the beautifying effects of a thorough manicure.