Sometimes I think all my nerves endings must be right on the surface
because I feel the roughness of the world
like sandpaper rubbing against my skin.
because I feel the roughness of the world
like sandpaper rubbing against my skin.
The unwelcome of hurried lives,
the abrupt endings,
and the sharpness of quick and thoughtless words,
scrape against me,
leaving cuts and scratches that I can't help but take personally.
the abrupt endings,
and the sharpness of quick and thoughtless words,
scrape against me,
leaving cuts and scratches that I can't help but take personally.
I run away and curl up in a protective ball to lick my wounds,
but loneliness draws me back out again.
I long for gentleness, for unhurried connection,
for the slow caress of attention,
the welcome of thoughtful kindness,
and the warm softness of love.
but loneliness draws me back out again.
I long for gentleness, for unhurried connection,
for the slow caress of attention,
the welcome of thoughtful kindness,
and the warm softness of love.
We're creating a world where such things are hard to find. This poem is not just about me, but all of us.
ReplyDeleteI know this is very late; there is a story that is really not relevant here.
ReplyDeleteWe have to push through the pain of the cruelty the world throws at us. Without vulnerability there can be no real caring or love.
I have no proof of it, but somehow, I know it to be so.