I have been writing poems
As if I am forging my own armor
Yet it seems that what I have made
Is more than just a hefty covering
But layers of sky-piercing barriers
And armies of unfamiliar soldiers
With their faces reflected in mine

Yet with all these defenses
It still won't be enough

For the words I bleed fail to nourish
The wise owl I aspire to become
And the weakest of the weak
Isn't invisible behind thick walls
Nor will he ever be invulnerable
To the crippling echoes from outside
And to the storms he sewed himself

But as I am doomed to break
I will always be bound to fall as well
Down the rabbit hole of poetry