Walls

I used to think they were a good idea. They kept things in, and more importantly, kept people out. Took moments to build and years to take down. And it seemed like every time I would start to take them down, something would happen, and they would go up higher and with even more thickness. It was a learned behavior, survival.

Years later they are still there, just as thick, but with a few cracks here and there. Few people have been able to successfully scale them. I used to take pride in this. But right now I sit here wondering how much I have lost out on because of my solid construction.

As I sit here thinking. There's a video game in the background. World at War. Rather fitting actually. We're all at war, every moment of every day trying to decide our next move. Who lives and who dies? Who get's in and who to keep out. What parts of ourselves get sealed away behind re-bar and cement?

I've spent years chipping away at the concrete slabs and sometimes I make progress. I even know why I started pouring the foundation all those years ago. I was that scared little girl in the corner...the one the kids picked on for riding the short bus. Then there was all the other stuff. The stuff that we didn't talk about. The secrets.

I never fit into the molds that were cast for me. My walls I think were my attempt at creating my place in this world. To hide behind the fact that that I wasn't what I was supposed to be. From the moment I entered the scene someone's expectation somewhere was dashed.

So I built.
I perfected.
I was the foreman.

But now I am tired.

The question now is, how do I find myself beneath the rubble?