I dwell in a fragile space, too delicate to break,
Far from the noise where false intentions wake.
You see me, feel me—but I won’t pretend,
If you come close, I’ll be the friend you defend.
They say we’re 20 percent, a studied anomaly,
Yet they’ve barely scratched the surface of our silent symphony.
I’m an HSP, but don’t box me in—
Neither introvert nor extrovert, just a soul that’s within.
Craving connections that are deep, that are true,
Is it my fault that I long for a love that’s genuine, too?
When you label me “fragile,” you don’t see my fight—
It’s like pouring salt into wounds that already burn bright.
We see it all, miss nothing in the swirl,
Even when the world says we’re just too much to unfurl.
I am a mother, a father, a sibling who cares,
A steadfast companion if you’ll trust what I bear.
Called “oversensitive,” “thin-skinned,” “fragile,” and “moody”—
But in truth, I’ve weathered more storms than you could see.
Yes, sometimes I am my own worst enemy,
But I’ve known the depths of me—and still, here I be.
We carry more than the world will ever know,
Like tender plants striving, just waiting to grow.
So before you judge, hold back that haste—
Offer me wisdom, not criticism, to replace.
Neither you nor I are broken, that’s clear,
We’re just solving life’s puzzles, one piece at a time, year after year.
Processing, feeling—our minds move like tides,
But don’t mistake us for frailty; we hold galaxies inside.
And if I wanted, I could count, one by one,
The purity of your soul, untainted, undone.
For in this fragile bubble, there’s strength, there’s grace—
A heart that sees the whole world, and still holds space.
