trying to enter the space
through an entry way
a door or portal
a passage, a way between
two connected places
there she dwells
waiting to block me
stop me in my tracks
a wall of heavy thoughts
pounding against reality
she's a liar
but what she tells me
sounds like the truth
I have been telling myself
to ease the discomfort
of being alive
and being human
in the cacophony
of guilty pleasures
and pursuits of power
to be comfortable
to make up stories
and tell myself
I am just as good
as my imaginary heroes
I am their god
after all, I created them
she turns and scowls
they mustn't be very good then
if they came from me
the dweller breaks down
walls around the entry way
the door, the portal
the passage between spaces
and she forces me
to chose a different path
another way through
around or over her
and then I have to repair
the damage she caused
breaking the walls
down and damaging
the art hung there
I sweep up the dust
from the construction
if I want to get in
I have to go past her
so I go through the rubble
and clean up the mess after
rather than push her out
