My Walls Weren’t Built to Be Scaled

I don’t have walls.

I have battlements.

Steel-laced silence.

Gates that only open when I say so.

Every scar laid the foundation.

Every betrayal stacked the stone.

You think I’m cold?

No, baby — I’m fortified.

I don’t want to be understood.

I want to be respected.

Feared.

Whispered about when I walk away.

I built myself out of pain and precision.

And no, you don’t get to tear me down

just because you feel something.

You want in?

Bleed for it.

Starve for it.

Prove you’re more than another soft voice

trying to melt me.

Because these walls?

They weren’t built to be scaled.

They were built to make the wrong ones turn back.

-L