Thick Skin

They say

i should have Thick Skin

because it would make the words

bounce off

instead of

seep in.

so i listen.

i build it,

my Thick Skin,

and i say

the Thick Skin works!

i no longer care

about the words

of others.

i do it,

i say it is so,

because, to some extent,

it is true.

yet,

the words have found another way:

they enter through my lips

because, you see,

i bite my lips.

i bite them until

they bleed.

my lip's skin,

thick as it is,

stands no chance

against the bone of my teeth.

and so,

when we kiss,

my peeled lips,

feel everything.

skin gone,

the words flow through the cracks,

down my throat

and into my stomach.

they, the words,

hurt,

burn,

shred,

my stomach.

my heart too.

they bury in my

intestines

where they stay

until they are replaced

by other words.

then they come up my throat,

like bile,

back to you.

they say my Skin needs to be Thicker;

then the words will hurt less.

Tough skin?

i say to no one in particular,

that I already have.

that

and

cracked lips.