I used to have an impenetrable exterior. Lacquer was protecting my skin, my aura, my heart. People in my life haven’t seen me cry in years. Whether because of a death, a new life, or simple human emotions. I used to take pride in it. I don’t anymore. My turtle shell has done more harm than good. For myself anyway, others have gotten used to it. My metaphorical shell has become a part of my outfit—a dual purpose for protection and hiding. I’m a runner, as I’ve mentioned. So, when I flee, I go inside of myself. I suck in my breath until I’m stuck in a hole so far deep, I forget there’s life outside of it. I lose my way back to the sunshine. It’s been most of my life, so I didn’t realize the negative effects until I began looking at myself. Really staring at my eyes in a mirror and seeing wha
