My Speckled Fingertips

A lesser-known fact about me: I used to love writing poetry. I wrote tons of it when I was a middle schooler and sometimes used it to explore the emotions I associated with my diabetes. I even won a prize in a poetry competition once for a poem that was about my journey to accepting my diabetes. Today, I revisit my poetry roots in this short piece about the scars that years of fingerstick checks have left on my fingertips.

If you squint reeeeeeeal hard, then you can see the careful placement of fingertip scars that I put onto this graphic hand. (I tried to take a picture of my own with less-than-satisfactory results, so a cartoon representation will have to do.)

Tiny black dots
Littered across my fingertips
These fingertip freckles are
Constant reminders of
Decades of life with type 1 diabetes
My speckled fingertips
Rough from the scars
Worn from thousands of pricks
Poked and prodded and pinched
Countless times
As part of the process to
Help keep me alive
Blood droplets
Flood scarlet, startlingly red
In contrast to my fair skin
Temporarily masking the marks
When wiped clean
They reveal themselves
Unashamedly
Loudly
Proudly
Maybe I should be
Proud of them, too.