Crinkle.

Strength he calls it.
I don't quite see it.
not when I anger so easily
or desire to fervently to weep when I really can't.
my skin crinkles, prickles at the emotional overload.
While her smile may be what I live for, or her laughter
his touch, however fleeting or his warmth in the night, curled up
Sometimes I can't help but want to cry myself.