I am not a door mat.

You can’t just come in and out whenever you please, stepping all over me as you do so.

"Welcome home."

A home is supposed to be comfortable, and that is one thing I am not, and so you are no longer welcome.

My door is shut, locked twice, chain and ****, tight as ever.

Nothing is getting in, so you can stop banging and yelling.

Although this is the most emotion I’ve seen you express in God knows how long, and you look so handsome through the peephole.

You knock so hard it almost feels like the wood is going to crack under your fist, but I built it to endure even the most powerful storms.

I’ve created floods stronger than your knuckles, earthquakes with my wails and hurricanes with my spinning, swirling mind.

You think you can break me, but you can’t, because I’ve already tried.

And trust me when I say, no one wants to destroy me more than I do.