I built these walls, one by one. Strong enough to break Atlantic waves, and taller than a California red wood tree. There’s no way inside, I made sure, I double checked—there have been brave souls who dared to try, but I still stand alone. Some bellow and cry out, they just want to see, they just want to look. I turned my back to muffle the cries, I don’t hear them anymore, and now, sometime later I’m not certain if their still out there. I shut out the light above me that colored my skin, I’m cold, but its better this way, safer. My humanity makes me weep from loneliness, but I know soon that will pass, just like the cries.
Some days I try to climb them, when my imagination lets me…dream, hope that I can turn back, that the walls can be brought down. I pound my fist, kick my bare feet, and then lean against the cool stone of my walls—I built my own grave, stone by stone. Though it’s not perfect, I can see a crack in one of the rocks, I think there’s hope in it.