Skin Picker
A poem I wrote about my ongoing struggle with skin excoriation disorder (A.K.A. dermatillomania).
Don't pick
I distract myself on my phone, scrolling through Instagram with my thumb
Don't pick
I found another product that's supposed to help with acne, I think I'll try it out
Don't pick
I can't touch my arms if I wear long sleeves every day
Don't pick
I tell my friends and family to stop me if they see me picking at my skin
Don't pick
I bite my nails until they're nothing more than nubs so they can't pierce my skin
Don't pick
There's blood on my face in the middle of a math test so I use my shirt to wipe it off
Don't pick
I only wear dark clothes because they mask the bloodstains
Don't pick
I get bangs to hide as much of my face as possible
Don't pick
I've been standing in front of the mirror for two hours, my face and arms are red
Don't pick
I need to buy new bandaids
Don't pick
There's more scarred skin than untouched skin on my arms and chest
Don't pick
I overhear a boy in my history class refer to me as a "skin picker"
Don't pick
I lock myself in the big stall of the bathroom and cry
Don't pick
It's okay, they say tears are good for your skin
Don't pick
I ask the doctor how to fix my skin
Don't pick
All she says is "stop picking"
DON'T PICK
I'm trying to
STOP
Don't you think I would if I could?
About the Creator
Kate Duffy
She/Her
Nineteen-year-old writer and journalist from San Diego, CA. Student at Arizona State University.




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