I built you up brick by brick, creating a fortress out of hope and false reality.

Believing that you were supposed to be the one that changed me,

to take away these terrifying issues of committing.

But I’m so afraid of being hurt first,

that I become the one who makes the first cut.

To draw the first drop of blood.

To wrap myself tightly in this fantasy of power.

I think I’m beginning to see

that the blood I was drawing was my very own.

This fortress I have created is made up of broken bones and heavy hearts

that I must carry with me in every waking moment.

I can blame it on the men who hurt me first,

and I do.

I can blame it on my crippling fear,

and I do.

But I think I’m beginning to see,

I am everything I was ever afraid of.