I like to imagine myself as a shield
Casting itself over it’s allies in battle
Saving them from shrapnel and enemy attack
On the front there was color
It has long faded into a plain metallic sheen
The color was not faded in one short stroke of grief
But rather by years and years of wear and misuse
It is filled with scratches
Some from enemies, some from allies, some from myself
On the back there are words
Some that I say all the time
Words like “I’m fine” and “Don’t worry about me”
Others are phrases I wished I heard
“Proud of you, son” “Good job, son”
These words serve to protect the guise
To persuade those who are protected by the shield
To never glance at the battle-worn front
Sometimes the shield is close to breaking
Mostly from overuse
Sometimes it breaks itself
Chipping pieces off wondering why it doesn’t feel whole anymore
What was once a thick, sturdy shield
Has become a frail, flimsy barrier
Ready to break at the slightest hit
It refuses to go easily
As if it were gone who would protect those behind it
How could such an imperative device be so easily replaced
How could others forget its purpose
How could the shield forget its own worth

This morning I made my shield.
Last night I knew it must be.
Laying there after,
I knew.
Never ask a friend in the sheets
what you mean to them.
Especially not after.
But foolish I was,
yet this fool turned pain to wisdom.
I woke and dressed, looking back with an ache in my heart.
It always comes back to this:
my vanity,
my need to be important,
to someone, some man
rather than myself.
It is the gap in my armor.
I strode out into the yard,
there I sacrificed myself to myself.
The blood painted the wood
the color of my heart.
I nailed it with heartbreak and rejection,
and polished with old tears,
it shone.
Battle ready, fear left me.
The shield was new
but the strength was old.
Upon my arm it would ever hold.

As a child
I quickly learned that if I blinked several times
and took a few deep breaths
I could stop myself from crying whenever I wanted
and it worked
From child to teenager
no one had ever seen me shed a tear
and I saw this as my own power
to hide my weak self from others
I could be strong
and benefit from my own shield
but it also made me seem detached
with the ones I cared for the most
I feel that one day It’ll happen
I will burst into tears after years of waiting
but I fear
If I start crying
I just may never stop.