The garden of life
is thick with thorns
and every one
cuts against my
paper skin.
I pick them out
from between fingers
wipe away the
smears of blood
they leave behind.
I rip them loose
from my stomach
and dislodge them
from my feet.
They all cut me.
I do not know
how to thicken my
skin against them.
I can't.
People call it
a virtue, to feel
everything, to
be empathetic.
But god, it hurts.
I can not walk
past a problem
without being caught
In the thorns. I
cannot touch someone
without cutting
myself on their edges.
I cannot exist
without feeling
pain from all
those around me.
I can't.
