Sensitive Side

I dig into the ripe flesh of my palm 

with my fingernails, and will myself to hold together 

this bursting body of mine. 

There is beauty in the half-moons left on my skin.  

A sensitive side? No, she is all of me. 

I split open like a fruit 

when I read the news, 

or look in the mirror

or tell them, no worries...

Whenever I’m reminded 

this world doesn’t have gentle hands. 

I don’t mind the juice and tears that drip from her eyes,  

how could I? She gives me fragile gifts of love and life and nectar.  

She painted the valleys and curves of my collarbone. 

I don’t mind the splintering cracks she leaves in every window,

how could I, when

She lets me see the world as my muse.

About Nicole Silberman

Nicole Silberman is a New York based writer with work published or forthcoming in The Black Sheep Magazine, the 22nd Annual Café Shapiro Anthology, and the Sunday Mornings at the River Anthology. She attended the University of Michigan to pursue a degree in psychology and neuroscience, but had an affair with creative writing. You can find more of her poetry and musings on instagram @nicolespoetry.