Translucent, thin as thin,
my skin barely covers the vital parts, the vulnerable places.
Tough as nails is truly strong, but nails pierce and punctures bleed;
so in the livelong days, would I be happier to be the punctured or to be the wounder, the bleed maker, the heart tearer?
Clear, thin as thin,
no camouflage, just being as I am, but not quite fashioned for the real world, for the opinion makers, the soul carvers, the kamikaze critiquers.
Blood red heart, salt poured tears, heaving breaths are laid open to those who speak daggers without thinking
to the, oh, so thin skinned.