I know.
I know I am an easy target.
I break too easily;
my soul is unbearably fragile.
You would think that
my heart would be calloused,
but that is far from the truth.
My pain is still
an open wound.
Bleeding freely
as it is picked and sliced
with elongated knives
of those all around me.
I feel it much too deeply.
I know.
God, how I am forced to know.

(d.d.b)