a wall is a wall
until you tear it apart
brick by brick
to reveal
a broken soul,
trying to carry the weight of the world's armor
all on their sore shoulders.
what do you do, then?
maybe you throw bricks at the universe
for cursing you
with some sort of fatal flaw,
until eventually they come falling down
faster, harder, backfiring from whence you threw them,
right back at the start.
maybe you throw those bricks
to whoever dared
tried to break the wall you built,
tried to shake your cold world,
devoid of vulnerability.
what if i told you, sweet and scared child,
you don't have to hold this heavy armor anymore.
you're no fatal flaw,
just the aftermath of barks and shrieks down the hall,
walking on an eternal path of eggshells,
which made your feet bleed so bad
you desperately decided to stop walking all together,
afraid of the burden your own blood would bring upon.
no longer do you need to silently soak your pillow with
salty sweet tears in secrecy, and keep wishing on stars
and lucky numbers, hoping one day
you'll be loved back for you and you only.
please wait, dear, do not leave
for one day you won't need to
bathe in the wallowing of your own sorrow
to keep you warm because nobody else noticed.
you no longer have to wonder when it'll get better, deprived of touch, validation, comfort.
one day i hope you
don't pick up any bricks
for your soul will be free and unchained,
and i hope you'll be able to feel the rain,
knowing it'll be over,
so you can wait, in bright childlike anticipation
to see the sunsets you used to dance under
just in time to see the rainbow
greeting you behind the clouds again.
