I lived in a house made of chaos and uncertainty.

I never knew what shade of black lay beyond the warm door until I stepped through it.

I tried running away,

But I didn’t even get beyond the drive way.

I realized I would be safer with the crazy I know instead of the ones around the corner that went unseen.

I lived in a world where peace and quiet and happiness fell like a house of cards.

On the drop of a hat yelling ensued.

Curse words and accusations were missiles,

Flung at the opposing side like they wished their words could physically hurt them.

And they did hurt.

Their words left scars and wounds on my soul,

Leaving me with the possibility that they’ll never heal and go away.

I looked to people of power to make myself strong.

But I feel like it didn’t stick.

I never forced men to see me as more than a woman like Susan B. Anthony.

I could never rally a group and be the spokesperson like Martin Luther King Jr.

I could never bring a country together like Gandhi.

Hell, I can barely keep myself together.

My skin is fabric that’s frayed at the edge.

Patches are hiding my holes.

I’m slowly unraveling, letting my mind wonder to some not so happy times.

My skin is not woven strong enough.

People saw my weak mind and body.

They took advantage of my selfless and caring heart.

Turning the only light I had dark.

They took away my faith in humanity

And turned my heart into a wall,

Making it nearly impossible for me to trust,

To feel,

To care,

About anyone or anything.

Now I’m in shambles, trying to take down the wall,

But I’m too stubborn.

I feel too safe, almost happy,

With the distance between me and everyone else,

 To take it down.