Your words of love are
barbs, sticking out of
my flesh, stuck there with
your goodwill and
joking ways of trying
to make me feel wanted.
My natural form has not
been seen for so long that
I almost believe they
belong there, my pain only
a side-effect of
your caring. You cannot see what
your words are, and I
will not tell you, for fear
my suddenly apparent hurting will
stab you, too.