So I just wrote this and not sure what to do with it. I feels like it could become a poem but I haven't written one of those in a long time. Not sure. Would appreciate feedback...
The chilly autumn breeze summons its long cool fingers probing through my layers, working through the chinks in my armour I wear to face the day. They stroke at my insides making me feel alive under the painted doll exterior, cracking under the pressure of a thousand expectant voices ringing in my head waiting for the moment I become more than mere surface, expose a bit of depth under my hard expanse. The wind finds the hairline cracks to work its finger through. Come to sooth my soul in it’s restrictive shell of isolation. But the cracks cannot be seen, the diversions have been set detracting attention from the ever increasing hole around my heart that aches from exclusion. Its monotonous beat pulses through the shell gradually sending fissures. Nobody will see, the clowns will distract them.
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