I give off the impression that I do not feel.
A facade so deeply rooted, I'm an enigma to most,
but what people don't see is the heart steeled.
Dented armor, sure, but I'll have to make do.

To look at cracked asphalt, one thing remains clear.
It may be missing pieces, it may show signs of wear and tear,
but throughout the years of life's tires steer,
the asphalt still serves its intended purpose.

Optimists and Pessimists bicker over half empty or half full.
This is often the argument over a simple glass of water.
The realist, however, exclaims "It's just a ******* glass!"
All the while the poet thinks, it represents me.

There's a certain emptiness and fullness in us all,
each contributing to the characteristics of our inner selves,
thus leading to the rise and fall of our mental walls.
The underlying question is what to build and what to break.

These dents in my armor, the asphaltic cracks in my life,
the constant struggle of my own glass of water,
I'll wear them all with pride if I have to.
I'm not that man I once knew; I am me.