The Bubble

I have created a perfect, happy little bubble in which I call my own. 

I exist inside this atmosphere content yet all alone. 

If and when I wander outside its mighty walls, 

I tread carefully to and fro so as to not induce a fall.

I seem to wander aimlessly when sent out on my way,

For to leave the bubble is to face the crowd and all they have to say.

At times this crowd hollers angrily, and their words do surely pound

And others walk right past me - as if I am invisible - without even a sound.

To feel the judgment on my face, or the quiet words unspoken

Cause silent tears to fall upon my heart and more memories to become broken.

So I run back to my bubble,

At peace amidst my own rubble.

For here I know at least I am protected,

Even though I am completely unconnected.

Many may wonder why I use the bubble as an excuse –

Try the years and years of prior abuse.

Having broken free from the pain,

I am tired of always having to explain.

Let me learn to be my own foundation

And to come away from the stagnation.

This bubble is what I call my own;

I am so happy to be home.