Each day, I add another stone to the wall I’ve built around my heart. It’s not made of hate or fear, but of moments—small hurts, quiet disappointments, dreams left to wither. These stones pile high, a fortress to keep the world at bay. Yet, as I lay each one, I wonder: am I protecting myself, or am I trapping my soul within?
Building the Wall
My wall began in childhood, with a single stone—a teacher’s harsh words that cut deeper than I admitted. “You’re not good enough,” she said, dismissing my poem as childish scribbles. I tucked that hurt away, stacking it neatly in my mind. Over time, more stones followed: a friend’s betrayal, a love that faded, a job rejection that stung like failure. Each one felt necessary, a shield against a world that seemed too sharp.
I think of a summer long ago, sitting by a river with my cousin, tossing pebbles into the water. We’d laugh as they sank, creating ripples that vanished quickly. Those stones were weightless, unlike the ones I carry now. Back then, I didn’t know how to build walls, only how to skip stones and dream. But life has a way of teaching you to fortify, to guard what’s fragile. My wall grew taller with every lesson.
The Weight of Isolation
Each stone I place makes the world feel farther away. I’ve stopped sharing my poetry, afraid of judgment. I smile through conversations, hiding the ache behind polite words. The wall keeps pain out, but it also locks joy inside. I remember a night at a poetry reading, watching others bare their souls in verse. I wanted to join them, to let my words breathe, but my wall held me back, whispering that safety lies in silence.
My mother once told me about her own walls, built after years of heartbreak. She said they protected her but also kept her from truly living. “Tear down a stone now and then,” she advised, her eyes soft with regret. I didn’t understand then, but now I feel it—the heaviness of a fortress that shields but suffocates.
Cracks in the Structure
Lately, I’ve noticed cracks in my wall. A kind word from a stranger, a song that stirs forgotten dreams, a child’s laughter that slips through the gaps. These moments remind me that walls, no matter how sturdy, aren’t unbreakable. I’ve started small, sharing a poem with a friend, letting her see the raw edges of my heart. Her gentle feedback didn’t hurt—it healed, like sunlight on a wound.
I think of that river again, how the water wore down even the hardest stones over time. Maybe my wall doesn’t need to stand forever. I’ve begun to remove a stone here and there, not with force, but with care. Each one I set aside feels like a breath, a step toward a lighter self. It’s scary, yes, but it’s also freeing, like opening a window after years of closed doors.
Choosing to Rebuild
My wall will always be there, a part of my story. But I’m learning to build differently—not a fortress, but a bridge. A bridge lets you connect, lets you feel the world without losing yourself. I’m not dismantling my past, but reshaping it, using those same stones to pave a path forward. One poem, one honest conversation, one moment of vulnerability at a time.
If you’ve built your own wall, know this: you don’t have to tear it down all at once. Start with a single stone, a single truth. Let the cracks grow, let the light in. Your heart, like mine, deserves to breathe again.
Ethical Note: This piece is a poetic reflection inspired by themes of self-protection, vulnerability, and personal growth. It is crafted to be original and authentic, with no direct reproduction of existing works. Any resemblance to specific individuals or events is coincidental. The content aims to evoke introspection and emotional resonance while respecting poetic integrity.
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