Hurt Fortress

Don’t try to break these walls from around me

This fortress that I’ve built is tall and strong. Meant to hold the masses out beyond me, and allow a rare few in. The drawbridge is up. I’m not ready to let it down for you to see what lies inside and turn, disappointed, to walk away. Like my “father”, like the friends, like all the lovers who spoke to me like Romeo to Juliette and left me with a dagger in my chest.

Don’t try to take this heartbreak out of me

My broken soul loves its wounds and battle scars; they build the world and the armor ‘round my heart, fashioned from the metal of hateful words that warn me of what is to come. Strengthened by possibilities I’ve learned to not imagine, as they only fade in time and become what I can’t be.

Don’t try to make me see the best parts of me

They only remind me of parts that have been stolen; the parts that make me smile when I don’t want to grin, when I’m so angry I could laugh. I don’t want to see. I’d rather stare down the barrel of the parts that lose when I don’t want to win and dig me deeper toward the grave that I create for my loathsome hyper sensitivity. I’d rather sit in conquest of my own burial, flinging dirt and debris onto the red beating flesh that I carry on my sleeve. The one that as you reach to take my arm and pry me from the pits of my own depth, you smother and arrest, stopping its beating for me, and taking it for your own.

Don’t try to tell me it’s alright

That it is all meant to be or not written in the stars; or point out what could happen if. I don’t want your hand to wipe the tear from my cheek, and I don’t want your arms around me for comfort or in attempt to take the weight from my shoulders and bare it on your own. I don’t want a solution, I want to fight with the problem, to wrestle it down ‘til it’s either the death of it or me.

Don’t try to talk me out of it

You’ll only talk me further in.