Thin skin

 

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It is a devastating thing to have thin skin,

Paper so easily pierced.

A single insult, that’s all it takes,

And the world crashes down round the ears,

A tear irreparable

In the flimsy fortification called self-esteem.

But they come with tongues as swords,

Inflict wounds - strike chords,

Those destructive words that take

But a moment to deal

And a lifetime to heal.

If only they could somehow remake

My character.

But how can one thicken one’s paper thin skin?

Enshrine the self in a coarsened chrysalid?

Or spend the rest of one’s days

Ruing the ways

In which

Even a stranger can pierce

That damnably thin

Paper skin.