These walls
I write about walls often. I think it's a very real metaphor for me. Its a means of protection and I think it always has been. I let my walls down for a select few. I get hurt and angry. Not at those people but at myself. At my vulnerabilities. I think it's a constant question of living in safety or living real. Feeling everything. Feel hurt, feel love, feel heartbreak, feel safety, feel like falling.
I feel like I sometimes walk amongst the debris of my fallen walls. I think I sometimes look down at my bloodied hands and realize that I've been haphazardly putting them back up, cracks and all.
Maybe they don't just protect me. Maybe they protect others from me.
I feel like I sometimes walk amongst the debris of my fallen walls. I think I sometimes look down at my bloodied hands and realize that I've been haphazardly putting them back up, cracks and all.
Maybe they don't just protect me. Maybe they protect others from me.