I’ve been told I’m difficult to get to know more times than I can count.
I wish I could give better first impressions.
But the real me is guarded.
Protected.
Locked up tight.
The keys to my castle are hidden in the depths of my mind.
He who shall enter be warned.
It isn’t always pretty.
I put on a good show.
Hair, makeup, nails, clothes, education, employment, dinner, dessert.
But it’s all a show.
Who am I?
He who shall enter be warned.
It isn’t always pretty.
When I was in fifth grade some girls in my class cornered me. They made fun of my beat up gym shoes and my frizzy strands. They bestowed upon me the presidential title for the IBTC. All fellow girls cringe at that committee. No one wants to be President. But what those girls didn’t know is I didn’t care. My walls were higher than their words could go.
Before fifth grade I built my castle walls. In the streetlight lit room of my childhood I built a fortress around myself.
I realized at a young age the importance of protecting myself. From the monsters. From the mean girls. From the frigid air of our unheated home.
Protecting myself meant that no one could hurt me. It gave me power. Control. Safety.
All the things I didn’t have as a girl who grew up in chaos.
Taller and taller the walls went following each night in my pale pink room filled with snow made of baby powder.
All I needed was a key and I swallowed it whole.
Although this fortress protected me over the years, I’m afraid that I’ve blocked out too much.
Too much possibility. Too much hope. Too much Brandy.
I want to let her shine but I fear the mean girls.
I fear the rejection
I don’t fear the monster because I could take him down if I wanted to.
I don’t fear the chaos because I now have power. Control. Safety.
Should I remove a brick?
Will you remove a brick?
Will you know me?
I swallowed the key. Can you find it?
He who shall enter be warned.
It isn’t always pretty.
The Write Balance 