Cut up

You must have thought
that I was made of lead;
thought that my skin was
thick leather,
worn by weathering storms
so much stronger
than any you could conjure.
You thought you could
dash me against the sharp
cliffs of the shore,
and I would not bleed.
You thought my armor
would protect me from
the blade of your knife
as you pushed it into my stomach.
You ought to know
that this strength is just a rouse;
I am not made of lead
or impenetrable leather;
more like wood that has been
worn away by the storms past.
I am easily cut by rocks and blades
I merely retreat to lick my wounds
in solitude.
And yet you cannot understand
why I walk with a limp,
why I wince in pain;
are you so blind?