Thin-Skinned

You say I’m thin-skinned like it’s

a bad thing,

as if the lilacs and lilies flourishing

underneath my skin are not

sacred relics from the rose thorns

along this path.

For even though it does not take long

for the cold to seep

into my marrow

or for the ice to freeze the blood

in my veins,

the glaciers drift through the ocean,

steadfast and invincible.

 

You say I’m thin-skinned like it’s

a bad thing,

but I know better because I feel your

sadness as if it were mine.

The sparrows are muted by the

deafening snowfall

and winter closes in on your mind

but here within my swirling winds

spring has declared its arrival.

The flowering vines intertwine

my spine like a trellis and

underneath my thin skin,

I am blossoming anew.

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