So Sensitive

As years drift by

I am aware

Of demands my soul has given.

To open valves that weep and wallow;

to destroy the glimmer

of silence.

I cannot stop the flood I feel

Once the valve’s been opened

Instead

I feel your words unspoken,

and feel when I’m not wanted

The oldest story in the book,

I wrote the first edition.

I do suppose

if I was tougher

or even made of leather

if my floors

weren’t hiding egg shells,

I guess there’d be a chance

that stomping hunters

would make the choice

to leave my heart alone.

Go on and leave, ‘cause

I don’t care

if you can’t grow to like me.

The flood has come

and gone, you see

Loneliness is my friend.