It is the itch, I cannot scratch.
It is the brass ring, so close, yet still out of reach.
It is a wall, that stands resolutely in my way.
That I am unable to scale.
It is a wall of my design, I’ve laid every brick in it’s construction.
And now I live in it’s shadow, always.
Except now I pick at it’s mortar, trying to take apart what I have built. But the mortar is strong, woven of fear, it clings to the brick, the brick forged from lies.
A lifetime, I've toiled in it’s construction, foolishly denying what I always knew. Trying to turn away from my true self, laying more brick in a wall that society demanded I build.
Still, there are cracks forming. Fissures, that let in some light. I can feel the gentle breeze of freedom blowing through them. Giving me hope, that I may yet live the life that was always intended for me.
About the Creator
Katie
Really just an amateur trying my hand at this.
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