I am building a wall. I am building walls for all of those who have hurt me. And you know what that makes me? A maze. I am building walls and walls and walls and all of these layers prove you’ll never meet the “real” me. These walls will keep me safe. These walls will protect me. These walls will secure my heart in a secret safe underneath the augmented vines growing on these walls. But which wall will act as a fortress for my heart? Or shall multiple walls each possess a piece or two because I’ve been using glue and baby, it can’t fix a broken heart. Yet it would never occur to you to hurry through these walls and trip scurrying through the overgrown grass and departed flowers that smother my maze. Instead, you’d rather investigate the enclosure before coming in, you’d rather ask questions and desire answers and ask why I’m so hidden. You’d forage my kingdom, searching for my heart. From wall to wall, you’d pluck each petal from my flowers and mow my yards, and you’d nourish my fields and tend to its needs. You’d find a way to climb my barriers and hop from wall to wall just to get to the middle. And for what? Nothing.