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the great wall

I allow myself anything but tenderness.

Tenderness could crumble even the great wall of China. Sending it's molded stones tumbling down, just like it sends cracks through my hard shell, exposing my heart like a touchstone. Every emotion pulsing like a heartbeat.

I don't always know what the point is in all this feeling. It's always met with containing.

Sometimes though, I can't stop it. And I end up sitting here, exposed, feeling moments like soft touches against my skin.

After a while, I build the walls up again. Brick and mortar, layer by layer, until the tenderness is protected again from the elements. High enough so that it only trickles in.

Lately though, my great wall feels more like a dyke holding back the ocean. I stand there with my finger in the hole just like the little Dutch boy did.

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