walls have risen around my heart
to protect it from enemy arrows.
though,
it's never been pierced by enemies,
only hit with friendly fire.
and never with arrows,
but millions, and millions,
of tiny pins
that didn't shatter the shell,
break through the core,
and create an exit wound;
that didn't
kill me instantly,
but pricked me hard enough
to draw blood . . .
the flow of which I cannot
seem to slow, now.

but you . . .
somehow,
you pass through the walls
as if they were mere air,
not there at all.
when you approach,
they crumble,
the drawbridge lowers,
the moat dries up,
and the attack dogs nuzzle your hands.

I wish I knew your secrets,
how you break down my defenses,
but most of all,
why, when I am the only thing
that stands between you and what you want,
I smile, and step aside.