Sandskin

My ethnological adaptation was impaled by subatomic disease.

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The tearing of skin offered an unfamiliar pain I could not bear

But my limited bearing was no indication of how long it would last

In the initial scrub against my skin blood remained absent

But after just a little while my skin cried red reflection of what was happening

I’d hoped that the heart of life would extend an empathic ceasing

I was wrong and disappointed as the intensity of affliction kept increasing

Physical touch blessed those encountering my body’s wounded coat

So soft so tender so many wanted to experience what it was like

But with every touch came new pain and deeper infection

I thought they had come to heal but deception was their identity

Now my pain is not only skin deep it reaches the core of my soul

Now my skin is not the only thing vulnerable and bare

But my spirit my mind my soul all crushed by infection spread through hugs

All the while life kept scratching and rubbing and inflicting its own agenda

My ecological responses were distracted by the raining pieces of my heart

My psychological processing immediately shut down to minimize impact

My ethnological adaptation was impaled by subatomic disease

My sociological grouping rejected the authenticity of my existence

Therefore I shed my desire for the skin I was in

And replaced it with sandpaper

Now when you touch me be prepared to feel pain

Now when you love me be strong enough to feel my wounds

Now when you intend to harm me you may actually think twice

Now when life brings its agenda I will shred its expectations

And whenever suffering grows strong enough to penetrate my skin

I will process, respond, adapt, and reiterate the power of my existence