Sensitive

Sensitive. 

A small word that seems to haunt me.

A small word that seems to taunt me.

It mocks who I am.

It locks who I can be.

I’m sensitive, I say, and I can hear myself laugh.

A cold, hollow laugh, that brings no joy to my ears.

It haunts me.

It taunts me.

Sensitive.  

I can’t be your emotional crutch. 

When I’m so close to falling down, myself. 

I can’t be you therapist. 

When I need one myself.

I can’t speak my mind.

When I don’t know what it says. 

So, I’m sorry.

But, I’m sensitive, so I can’t hold on. 

You’re tearing me apart, when I’ve only just fixed my strings. 

You’re ripping my heart, when I’ve only just found it again.

You’re going to be the end of me.

I just don’t know what to say. 

I’m nothing.

I’m nobody.

I’m not worth your time, so please.

Just leave me alone.

Sensitive.

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