Under My Skin

A quick, sharp bite

washing dishes, a familiar fright.

Then, the dark line appears,

a tiny, insistent fear.

I tried the tweezers, small, precise,

but it slid away, a cruel device.

Just under the surface, a stubborn thread,

a tiny insult, unsaid.

It burns, a small fire, a hot itch,

reminding me of some old glitch.

It won't come out, this wooden sliver,

just sits there, making me shiver.

It festers, a quiet ache,

for God's sake.

Not the pain, but the knowing,

it's still there, always growing.

Always underfoot, or underhand,

this little bit of foreign land.