And there you go--building skyscrapers in your head: Don't let all that beautiful chaos gone unsaid

Beautiful chaos.

I have been an architect for far too long--laying foundation with insecurity and building cement walls with no windows to trap inside anger, to trap inside sadness, to trap inside pain, to trap inside suffering. And when people try to scale the sides, build a peep hole and look in, I add another layer and I build my skyscraper a bit taller, what I believe to be a bit stronger.

.Walls to weather my worries. Cement to cover my cries. Layers to lie low.

But the more heavy the feelings become--the more durable the walls attempt to be. The more built to withstand the sorrow--the painful pasts--the painful presents--the painful predictions of the future--the more likely the indestructible me is destined to detonate.

You cannot build something that is able to withstand anything.

It didn't work in history with the Titanic or the Towers, so I am not sure why us as people--me as me--believes that I can be invincible. We cannot be. I cannot be.

Skyscrapers are beautiful--but they are vulnerable.

It is human to just be--it is human to feel. And I am so tired. I am so tired of sealing up. I am so tired of constructing foundations for fears, towers to treat my tears, skyscrapers to silence my screams, and walls to wallow within. So tired of hiding--of running away--of tensing up--of withholding. Of not being.

Skyscrapers are beautiful--but they are vulnerable.

And sometimes even that vulnerability is bound to collapse us. To release enough to light up entire city blocks with our fragile feelings and extraordinary emotions. A world of safe and sincere souls-a world of shattered windows and delicate debris, a world of...

True. Real. Beautiful. Chaos.

A world of beautiful vulnerable chaos.