Self-enwall

I've never been one to listen—no, I build up my own prison.
Stone by stone, I erect the walls and then beat my head against them. 

I take the words I hear and weave them into tapestries that tell imagined stories of a lonely, unstable woman. They are nothing of worth, but they cover the cold, dank walls of my fabricated cell. 

I give no window, no room for light in my attempt to control the person I am. I challenge myself to duels and yet lose every one. I concede to the delusions and give rights to lies. I eat the dirt up off the floor and say that I'm not pretty. 

I hear music play outside these walls and wish to sing and hum along, but I cry to think I might sing the words wrong. What worth have I but death, to squander the gift of life. 

I know there is a hole, a crack in my own defense. Perhaps one day I'll wallow no longer and chip away at the flaws in my impenetrable offensive.




[After I wrote this, I was blessed with hearing the song "Fall Afresh" by Jeremy Riddle. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ci2-OEKt-Ok) A sweet song that echoed in the hollow of my head and lifted my spirit. Perhaps a drink of water for a parched soul.]