I’m a metal cage with a heart inside.

Equipped with legs so I may run away at a moment’s notice.
Arms, so I can push you away with ease.

My cage’s bars are barbed wire. You cannot put your arms around me.
There is a great, steel lock at my cage’s latch, so you are not allowed in.

I have harsh, leather gloves, so you may never reach for my hand.
My ears are plugged. You cannot sway me with words.
My cage’s handle is poisoned. Pluck me up, and it will cost you.

I am tough. You cannot fight through my exterior.
You cannot reach my insides.
I will not let you near. I will not let you touch me. I will not let you hold my hand, or sway me with words. Don’t try to pick me up.

My metal is cold. My lock is rusty. My leather is dry and cracked.

I think: why doesn’t anyone come comfort me?