I have always been told that biting my nails Is a bad habit.

It’s bad for my teeth.

It’s bad for my fingers.

It’s bad for my gut.

I wonder, then, what I can replace this terrible practice with instead.

What new quirk can I plant in the place of my nail-biting that will erase the gnawing feeling of anxiety building up in my stomach?

Tell me what practice is remedy for the burdens eating away at my days.

Who do I go to for a bite of sweet relief?

No savory solutions answer my call.

Instead, the bitter truth rests under my tongue, a child hiding from the monsters simmering beneath her bed.

Any possibility of reprieve melts away like butter under the heat of my angst.

I think, my nails can handle a few more chomps before chaos consumes me whole.

I console myself, promising my nails bite-sized rewards for all their selfless sacrifices. Perhaps, I will get a manicure soon enough.

For now, they remain delicious: the taste of my sanity.