Building Walls

Building Walls (By Cat Matchuk)

I tore down my walls from the inside out, and you closed your eyes.
You heard the concrete crumble to the ground,
when the dust settled, you turned away.

You wore a cloak of shadows as a badge of honour, it was boldness to my eyes.
Through the shadows I saw your walls of steel and wood,
rusting and rotting from the rain, I mended them with my touch.

These walls, these mazes, you favoured their structure.
You wondered why I tore them down. It was for you,
your eyes begged me to, although nothing passed from your lips.

I wanted your cloak for myself, but I couldn’t leave you in this weather,
naked.
I couldn’t let it be me, I wouldn’t let you see me,
or my mistake.

Let the cold rain slither down the stones of these walls like tears from nature’s eyes.
A thin fragile barrier to shield me, to protect me from the sting of denial.

Content in the shadow of my walls, I found comfort once more and closed my eyes,
never to see your cloak again,
as you turned away.
My mistake.
I was the one who turned away.