It is a natural occurrence as Homo sapiens to protect ourselves. Some of us go far and beyond what is required in self-defence. We build barriers around our hearts, souls, and minds to protect ourselves against being hurt. I’m as guilty as anyone. I’m always on the defensive. I’ve always had to guard against those that would gleefully have me six feet under. But, I have realised through experience that the only way to make friends and build relationships is to let down my guard and powerful defenses. Tis a hard task.
When a person builds said barriers and refuses to lower them for any reason, he or she could very well turn into a vile and self loathing person. I’ve seen it happen. People are so afraid of getting hurt that they end up only hurting themselves. Getting hurt by someone you love and trust is unspeakable. When people are hurt in whatever way as children, it makes it that much harder to let down his or her fortifications.
There’s a lass that I know all too well that is loving and kind but evil as hell in the same instance. She had a very hard childhood. She was treated very badly. I’ll just leave it at that. Anyway, she’s very skeptical of men, especially moi. I wonder why? 
It took me months to chip away her impenetrable (so she thought) wall that conceals a good heart. On the surface, she is vile witch with piss and vinegar running through her veins. We have a lot in common. I saw what was behind that wall the other day. Tis quite warm and picturesque back there. But, as I have explained to her, I don’t have all the time in the world to play games. To say that she has a temper would be an understatement to the highest degree. Those sparkling emerald eyes of hers can glaze over in an instance! She trust me more than most. That means a lot! She knows how to push me buttons!
Anyhow, I scribed this poem ’bout her. Perhaps I was a bit hard on her. What say you?
It’s not angst, it’s accentuated
A decimal point away from being read
Cold, left vacuous and underrated
A deafening shower for a beat head
The sort of rage that’s strangulated
Nearly liquefied, simmering and resolute
A glimmering vanguard that’s underestimated
Designed to defend, conceptualised to be astute
She obstinates, never content
To concede would be curt
It lies in witty comments
But she is often hurt
And it’s a fault
It’s cunning, narking
Not troubling
But it’s a fault
And it’s devised
It’s uncivilised, favourable
It’s not fables
But it’s devised
And she’s just a dame
She’s mad, insane
It’s such a game
But she’s just a dame
And nowt less
But serene blitheness
Would mend this mess
But nowt less
-Jefferson Davis-
