The only thing worse than being hurt is knowing you are hurting someone else

I tuck pens under cushions
Use receipts like paper
Then stash them away quickly
So no one will see
What I write

No one thinks of me as that type
The one that writes
But I do

But if they knew
Then curiosity would strike
And I can't bare the thought
Of their judging eyes
Viewing my art

Everyone is given a set of bricks
From a young age my parents built a pedestal
with those bricks
held me high above the others around
Bricks of compliments and loving gestures
layed beneath my feet

At a certain age
I became old enough
to lift up bricks on my own
Methodically I layed them all around me
My parents now too busy
it became a job of my own

But there was just one problem
I forgot to pick up  my feet
What I had been building was no pedestal
but instead a wall

By time I realized this though
others realized they had bricks too
instead of building themselves up
they hurled bricks
to knock others down

My walls now had a purpose
So I continued to build
the walls rising above my head
and ending at my arms length
I had built myself a prison
to protect myself from others

It was very lonely in my prison
just my thoughts and me
And although what layed beneath my feet was love
The wall around me was made of fear
and the outside world of **hate

The world was so small when I was little
And everything was so simple
The worst type of pain was when I got a paper cut