Walls of Thorns
The Bridge To Healing — a poem
I wish my walls
Were made of
Concrete or bricks
Then it would be easier
For me to decide
When the time is right
To break the barrier
To let them in
How effortless
It would have been
But
My walls
Are not made of these
They are very much alive
Sharp thorns envelop my entire being
A part of me
Like the blood running in my veins
And I know all too well
The anger that boils
When I feel the pain
As they are broken and torn off my skin
Revealing bleeding wounds...
From when I dared to dream
From when I dared to love
From when I dared to sing
These walls
Might have kept me in
Yet they are
My truth and reason
That I am intact
That I am fine
To this
I will not lie
But
There is no use
Breaking off branches
When they are still rooted at the heart
Even if it breaks me apart
These walls no longer play their part
Like the winds of time
I must learn to move on with mine
And
When I finally do
I shall meet you again
At the other side
Greatly appreciate Mustapha El Hajj’s timely tag on Kimberly J Fitzgerald’s writing contest prompt:
Do you have walls up, and why? Where would it lead to if you were going to build a bridge in your life right now?
This writing prompt struck me heavily as I myself am still facing a personal struggle of constantly having my walls up; and I have taken quite some time for self-introspection to reflect on how my walls came to be.
My walls were/are works of my own. I have learned to perfect them through the many times when I was hurt. I thought of them as one of my greatest strengths, impenetrable and indestructible — one of the reasons that I survived. There is some truth to that which I will not deny, but over time I have come to recognize that this “protection” of mine has become a “growth blockage”. There is still much to learn about the difference between drawing boundaries and being in denial, and I am still figuring it out.
To me, life would have been easier had my walls been made of materials/things that are separate from my actual being. I could just knock them down whenever I feel the time is right, or build them back up again if there is a need to. Instead, my walls are “alive” and linked to me — rooted from my heart, they became my armor of thorns; the protective layer that separates between me and the world. Whenever someone tries to forcefully “tear” that layer away from me, I can feel the pain as if I am reliving the past experience of hurt. Figuratively, if the layers are completely torn away from me, my past wounds can be seen bleeding still — as I am still affected by my past memories even after all these years.
This piece helped me to explore my vulnerability like never before, and I find it very meaningful to be able to walk myself through my reasons and truths for my own defenses. It is not an easy task, to just let my guard down, or pretend that my walls never existed. They have been a part of me, and I am still learning to grow beyond my walls, to finally become my own “bridge” — to connect more honestly with myself/others.
Maybe my walls and my bridge need not be asynchronous, but rather, to exist simultaneously as a balance in love and in life.
I would love to invite fellow poets on this meaningful writing journey and I look forward to reading your works (please kindly reply/tag me so I can read your stories)
Mick Gibson, Ms. Mary Ann, Holly Rose Thomas, Andra Writes, CDTPPW, Benighted, Frieda Stern, Annieb, Jenny Starr✨, Anna Krasko, Warren "Storyteller" Brown, Ann Christine Tabaka
