My Cacti Skin

a poem

My cacti skin

Not sharp enough to cause bleeding but enough to escape the warmth of an embrace.

Ready to defend against any exchange and ready to protect in order to survive.

How it quietly sharpened only to become so lonesome over the years.

And once it survived, it was left to feel nothing but the sheer cold.

But spring comes every year without fail

and those few special people, too,

found a way to tend to the soft parts of my prickly skin.

So much so that little buds began to grow.

One by one they sprung in place of those thin needles.

Softening those sharp edges.

Determined to smooth out the pain rather than to callus.

Soon enough, those buds began to blossom.

My cacti skin soft once again.

And in the gentleness of flowers blooming,

I found the warmth of an embrace.

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