hurt, a stone; each imperfection,
mortar for the walls. They rise up
like Babel, to the sky, surrounding
my heart like barbed wire fences.
pile on more mortar, lug more stones;
I try to make a garden out of prison walls.
This stone facade is me—it’s not! but
here I am alone inside my Jericho.
raindrops fall like cannonballs,
breaking down the walls. They crumble,
like crackers underfoot. My stronghold
decimated, I stand vulnerable yet free.
walls masquerading as safety,
really a cage. It wasn’t me;
the light shines better through
a broken wall, anyway