A slight blue tint beneath the
Membrane of ruddy proteins
Scars, pockmarks, and imperfections
Stretched tight against a less-than-muscular frame
Strong forearms from typing
Unkempt fingernails with bits of dirt underneath
Scabs of unknown origins
Fine, brown hairs sprouting like trees
Thumbs that bend backwards ninety degrees
A habit of tapping blunt fingertips
In a tight staccato rhythm on the keyboard
As words flow out in an odd fashion
Bumbling and fighting to be the first
To be brought into existence outside of
The mind and soul
An odd mark on the right index finger
Somewhat healed, split open a bit
Like a wide paper cut of some sort
Ridges down the middle of the knuckle
Miniature canyons in the skin
Along the joints that move so swiftly
To produce something worth sharing
Whether it be jovial or tragic