Daniel Freer, Spring 2010
Tough skin.
My heart’s got tough skin.
I’m not one to get too affected by anything, get too harmed by
the daily insults,
the judgements.
I don’t care what they think.
I care what you think. Or him. Or her.
When groups may laugh or break, shatter, destroy, leave in their wake,
even the leader, himself, may be sympathetic.
There is strength in numbers. There is also exploitation of that strength.
I’m not one that gets afraid of sitting on a public toilet, or afraid of
how I smell
how my hair looks,
if my clothes match.
My heart’s got tough skin.
If you don’t like it, you can get out. My heart can stand alone.
You can punch, kick, scream, shout, but
My heart’s got tough skin.
You won’t reach the core.
Of course, if you stab me through,
I’ll bleed.
But first, you’ll need the sword.
But what’s the sword?
A moment, a lifetime, a word?
No weapon thurs far hath pierced me so.
My heart’s got tough skin.
I’ve cried before, don’t get me wrong.
In times you wouldn’t expect. In times I wouldn’t expect.
And in times I thought I would, I haven’t.
I’m scared for when that moment comes
When the sword is unsheathed,
when another knows the shape of my heart better than myself.
Until then, it’s in a case high upon a hidden shelf.
It’s a mystery to me too, the shape of my heart.
I know about the tough skin.
It’s the other stuff that matters. But I know enough to let it show.
I’ll let my tough skin show, too.
And I’ll look at others, without a heart like mine, thinking selfishly
“Wimp.”
“Suck it up.”
Not understanding.
But I must.
Not everyone’s heart has tough skin.
If I can’t understand and accept the shape of others’ hearts, how will they do the same
For mine?
So. Let me see. Let me accept.
Do not let your heart become so immersed in the body that you cannot feel its beat.
Then, maybe, you will see and accept
My tough-skinned heart
And use the sword
Letting my heart bleed out, let it gush, let it shout
uncontrollably.
I long for this. Not because I want the pain. But it is in these moments,
when people look weak,
when they are broken down,
when it’s more than just a tear and a frown,
that the shape of your heart shows out most.
And that’s when I’ll see
beyond the tough skin.
To the important stuff.
The true shape of my heart.