Too Sensitive Me

By Marcella Leff

I am a highly sensitive soul.

When you cry, I feel the toll.

Your sorrow seeps into my skin,

I wear your ache like it’s my own sin.

I sense the weight you always bear,

each silent grief, each whispered prayer.

Your pain is raw; your wounds are real.

I feel what you refuse to reveal.

I cherish all that breathes and grows,

the scent of rainbows, the bloom of a rose.

I feel the flowers stretch and rise,

beneath the hush of morning skies.

Nature grants me sweet reprieve,

from stress that clings and will not leave.

I hear the sun in quiet fire,

dawn undressed in my soft attire.

Its light caresses dew-drop beads

on sultry leaves and tangled weeds.

Then noon arrives, the heat expands,

and it shimmers and slips through my hands.

The world always floods my tender mind,

with noise and light too unrefined.

Yet still I offer up my care.

My heart is open, always there.

I notice hearts worn on a sleeve,

the ones who ache, the ones who grieve.

Emotions surge, they rise, they fall

and I’m the one who feels it all.

I try to please, to soothe, to stay,

though “no” is hard to ever say.

Your troubles spill, I hold the tide,

but sometimes I must step aside.

My thoughts grow thick, my mind unclear,

I ask my heart to persevere.

When I feel lost, I seek the light,

a quiet voice that stays the night.

I used to think my depth was weak,

a fragile thing, too soft to speak.

But now I know what I’ve become-

emotionally fierce and never numb.

By Marcella Leff