Poetry Exercise #9: Sonnet

Exposed

The hard and shelled off-color nails, the tips
of fingers (peach, or “flesh,” whatever shade
that indicates) on top of that pink strip
of bubblegum that is my finger, laid.
They sometimes change their color, veil or cloak,
while I alone underneath know the truth.
The rock-like nails just cover flesh unbroke
that cracks and ages coming from their youth.
The nails are orange when I tango, blue
on melancholy or elated days,
lime when I do not care, or that one hue –
the glitter purple amidst prism rays.
If fingertips aren’t careful, nails can chip
Revealing flesh that can break off and slip.