Home » Poems » Constance La France » Sensitive Is My Shame

Sensitive Is My Shame

Since a little girl, I have been sensitive. Hiding behind mother was my place to be. Mother used to say that I was born different. My eyes were pools of sadness, dark brown and full of sorrow. As I grew words said effected me deeply. I did not brush them off, that was not me. The words were like scars on my soul, they dwell there. Terrible, awful death shadowed my days and how I handled it was to go deep within. I dwelled there, happy with imagination. I made up stories and lived them. I would read books in a secret corner of the attic. I liked to wander the woods near home. I saw things there that touched me, little baby birds, young squirrels playing, nature growing all around me. I told my sadness to my kitty, she was a good listener. in woods wandering I find my sweet peace and tranquility- green lush vines creeping Soon, I was a teenager. I was quiet and alone in my private world. Words lashed at my soul like whips. Perhaps the words were not even that terrible, I twisted them that way. I was extremely sensitive and it was a curse. Yet, in the end it turned out to be my most precious quality, sensitive to all I see and feel in this world has made me the poet that I am today. I can now write with soul all that I see wrong in the world with emotion. But part of the little sensitive girl hides inside of me, often she is hurt by a word said, even if innocently said. It is a curse and a blessing. the birds are chirping they are calling me to the green lushness- words fall from my pen _______________________________ April 16, 2016 Poetry/Haibun/Sensitive Is My Shame Copyright Protected, ID 16- 778-484-0 All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.