Is it really so true that fear can keep us trapped and imprisoned by nothing but mere thoughts?

Invisible bars with such real rigidness in their stance.

Within these walls I wonder, is it normal to watch another person cry and feel like it's the most intimate you can be with a person? And if so, what does that say about what I'm putting up with?

You can open my legs repeatedly, but you'll never know me there; because unlike other humans I live in my heart.

If you know the key to that door isn't your ****, even though it fits, but it was your deepest secrets, would you dare to open me still?

Should I consider the ones who answer no to be cowards?

And maybe that is why I have grown to hate you. Because I stand in the bravery of authenticity but still tremble at the thought of being alone.

So maybe then in actuality I hate myself too.

In conclusion, I suppose I hate neither.

I only hate the mirror you are that shows me who the real coward is here, and I'm sick of staring.