Whilst sensitivity is my super power,
It can also feel like a curse…
Harsh words grate and are hurtful.
Others taking sides and making judgements,
is blind siding.
Venting coarse bile is wasteful and vengeful.
It cuts the person who wields the knife,
as well as the person they slice into.
Only when you stand at a distance, can you know.
Then listen and let go.
Not spit nonsense.
Not grow horns.
Not take your bad day out on another.
Think before you throw your poison darts. They’ve landed in my heart.
Lodged and bleeding.
My heads says it’s OK, and I will rationalise.
But my soul is sore.
My core is sensitive,
despite my hard shell.
I bruise like a fully ripened peach,
since I don’t understand your priority.
But I’ll just let it be.
Not give a fig, in a week or a decade’s time.
Use my sensitivity to divine and investigate and feel my way in to someone else’s receptive psyche;
in another moment, on the wind of another day.
Because sensitivity is my super power.