Weak and sensitive and delicate and fragile.  
I’m weak, the skimpy walls I’ve built around my mind
Are easily destroyed, never enough.
I’m sensitive, any little jolt or knock sending waves of
Hurt straight to my soul.
I’m delicate, a priceless China doll that can hardly be
Moved from the shelf for fear of irreparable cracks.
I’m fragile, needing someone to carress my heart, not allowing Anything to seep inside and break me.
But I’m supposed to be strong.
I’m supposed to have indestructible walls,
Tough skin,
An invincible, courageous presence,
Everything I need within myself.
But I don’t.
I just don’t.
Yet I lie daily to preserve this invincible image,
This confidence,
This strength.
And society believes it,
They welcome my transparent strength,
Seeing it as opaque,
Because they don’t want to deal with what is
Underneath.