My Core

When I tell people I am shy
They laugh.
Just because I am loud and insensitive
Does not mean that I am not something else
Also scared;
Scared of questions that penetrate my too ripe skin.
Questions that prick my outer membrane
Until I am left
My hidden juices dripping from greedy hands.
Hands now sticky with my truths.

Scared that all they will find
(Once they bite through my brightly colored flesh)
is an empty core.

An oval shaped hallow devoid of any pit
or seed.

An empty space that will never
be filled.

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