I’m looking for a metaphor,
one which hides my pain,
to mask the truths which freely pour
truths I don’t want them to gain.

Safely I reside here
in a space where I’m most me,
away from those I hold most dear;
muses from which rage comes free. 

I should likely build these walls up
strangers, I’m told you cannot trust.
Their words, a tonic to my cup
to learn from them, I must.

Am I just writing in this diary
or a lynching those who love me?