Am I as fragile on the inside
as a book would say I am
or can I stretch the lengths of pain
if I do everything I can?
I'd like to think I wouldn't pop
with just a small pin prick
and that I wouldn't start to crumble
if my skin weren't quite so thick.
Even so, I can't deny
that something's left me raw
as though I am a slab of meat
beaten after the thaw.
Of course, I can't pick up the pieces
that I think I've lost
since buying into human kind
without knowing the cost.
(09/14/09)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem