The place only I can go.

When those people hurt me I don't want them to know.

But it affects me...

I shrink from their speeches which are like prodding fingers.
I try to block out their mocking words.
I become aloof on the outside;
On the inside I've run away.
I've run away from reality to a place only I can go.
It's quiet here. I can lean against time & think for a while.
My exterior is frozen. My interior is alive.
You can't follow me here. No one can.
I pity those cruel people. Their perception of beauty is clouded

They don't have a place like mine.
They could though.
But they're too busy... Busy in their miserable world.

{Photo: Anna Brønsted of Our Broken Garden. Taken by: Gina Zacharias.}