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
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
Even a stranger can pierce
That damnably thin