Salt, Ugly, Beautiful, Water

How many times have I been told that I’m too emotional, too sensitive, too thin-skinned?

I want you to see my tears.
They are my rage.

The ugliest thing about me is
(you)
when salt and water are forcibly taken from me.

You arrest me with your words
and squeeze until it hurts

My rage, my life, my salt
it comes from the same well
tracks down my cheeks
in the corners of my eyes

the most beautiful sound, when a baby is born
that salt is life.

the most terrible, ugliest thing when that baby has grown but
her skin has not.
it has stretched too thin
to weather harshness and harm

Hey- I’m sorry if my laugh was inappropriate when you told me that she said to get a thicker skin. I’ve been told this, too. That’s why I laughed. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Why is it bad to have thin skin? What if I told her that her compassion and kindness, her caring, gentleness and consideration were too thin? Why is feeling bad or tears seen as weakness? When the baby cries, it is the strength of life within. What if I don’t want to stop feeling things because feeling makes me human. It makes me more compassionate and kinder to others? What if thicker skin is just a way to bandage and hide others’ guilt about the harm they’ve caused? What if our emotions, our tears are evidence that make others afraid, uncomfortable because it exposes their deeds? So, they shift the blame to us. They are too uncomfortable to look at their calloused skin in the mirror and what aged lies have robbed them of: their humanity.

This is what you want from me; hate from me
my ugliness, my beauty, my life

it is all a curse to you

what is a thick skin but a callous, but death?
you won’t stop until my death.

until there is no more salt
no water
no life
no ugliness
no beauty
no strength

every drink. every dip, every ocean and every river
every taste of that sweat upon your brow
each and every drop of rain

it is

me

my thin skin, salt, water, rage and pain