Walls

Like most, I am a misfit. Constantly meeting outcasts, doing things that I shouldn't and not getting along. They say to play nice even when getting crapped on, screw that!
We make walls not to keep out people but to protect us from feelings of all sorts and when something good disappears another layer is added on and held together with a special block that is made up of that incident and those feelings so we don't forget why that layer is there in the first place. These walls can be torn down but only if the one block is dissolved first. We connect, link, integrate everything together in one form or another.
The wall is ours, made by one but forged from many. We all have a wall whether or not we admit it. We may forget about it until something triggers it, then we remember itsthere. No matter what others say or do ultimately these walls can only be destroyed by ourselves

The Costume

I wear this costume day in and day out, 24/7, 365/366 day a year. It is attached to me like glue. Only a select few have been able to touch the real me and that was through a scab that had fallen off. The scab is usually no bigger than a dime. The costume is made up of so much.
The mask is what covers my real expression that have not been seen for so long. It is attached like interweaving fibers to the inner me. It feels no emotion, no sensation except those it wants me too. It controls everything on my face and in my head. I see and hear only what it wants me to see and hear. I taste the blandness of food for my tastebuds are no longer connected. My sense of smell has become sensitive to the rotten things this world has to offer and refuses to let the sweet smells inside.
the torso is made up in the same way except it is harder to the touch. It contains layers upon layers of years of aggression, attitude, failure, hatred, disgust, torment, abuse and ridicule from so many that it keeps me safe and protects my heart from these and so much more.It warns me of situations it does not like by constricting my lungs and air flow, working my heart faster. This is the most difficult portion of me that is hard to remove because it can only come off in layers. The small rips quickly cover over to avoid being opened larger.
From the waist down it is the same material but much more agile. It keeps the people around me from seeing the shaking that goes on. It warns me of any anxiety but twitching them wildly and iuncontrolably. It protects my feet from the softness of the grass, the feel of a poke from a tack or nail. It protects my ass by padding it with so much fat that i can sit almost any where with a problem, it protects my genital from the inhabitions of my mind
Those few who have been lucky enough to touch the inner me have been flooded by so much emotion that it sacares them to tears. I wish to rid myself of this horrible costume for it has become more of a nusiance rather than a protector. The mind it has has become its own and has taken of the rightful operation that belongs to the real me. I cannot answer the question, “who is the real you”, for I can no longer remember what it is like to be me. I want to take a knife and scrape it all off, yank the layers off pulling the fibers away from itself exposing what has been long forgotten.
I seek someone who can help with this but as of yet I have had no luck. The day we become one with each other is the day the costume will crumble on its own like dead bark off a tree. I try everyday to pull a piece off and endure the pain of rip but it grows back faster and thicker and it becomes harder to pull it off.
I can not stand much more of this.