Walls by Anonymous

For as long as I can remember I have been building walls. Walls for protection. Sometimes my walls crumble faster than I'd like them to. Other people don't like my walls. They cannot get close, there are parts of me they cannot see, because the wall is too high.

I like my wall. My wall is safe. My wall protects me. My wall will never be truly gone. It lowers, it grows, but it is always there, like an invisible bubble, protecting me from harm.

Sometimes people find a hole in my wall. They break an entree. They enter without permission. Nine out of ten times I try to remove them. I want to put them outside my wall, but that one person. That one person knows me better than I know myself. That one person is intimidating, for she often knows me better than I know myself.

There is a whole new wall. I feel like I run into it. Time and time again. But it is not my wall.

Walls don't feel so safe anymore. They feel rotten. They exclude you.