fictionary… 8 megapixel artist… bloody awful poet.




I’m really not who you think I am.

I give points to those, in my past, who guess bits and pieces of me correctly.  You’ve all tried so hard to be right that it doesn’t seem fair not to reward that effort with a bonus peek behind the curtain, as an “atta boy” for playing the game.

And it’s not that I purposely deceived you about who I am.  I haven’t.  It’s just that, after so many years of living my life, day to day, I really don’t think about sharing every detail of it with you.  Not because I’m keeping things from you, but because, after living it all the first time, I just don’t think of it as interesting. 

It wasn’t interesting to me.

Or to anyone else who lived it with me.

Because I’ve lived every day up till now, all those days before you had any thoughts of me, as days of necessity, not serendipity.  My nose grew more comfortable with the grindstone than it ever was with the stars.  And my existence has, for the most part, been for others who depended on me, and not my own amusement.  At this point, I don’t have a frivolous bone in my body.

Or they’ve all been broken.

Therefore, no matter what you may think you know about me, what you really know about me is what you and I discover, together.  I’ve kept my life compartmentalized, mostly for my own safety.  At least that’s what I kept telling myself, over and over, since the day my heart began to crumble.  First, I built a wall.  Then another, then two more, and before I knew what I was doing, I had built so many rooms inside me that I had one for every thought.  One for every feeling.  Safe and unsafe.  For sharing or hiding.  Each one a closed space, until I decide that you are safe to me.  But no one gets a key to the whole place.  Not unless we go there together. 

Only if you are safe.

Are you safe? 


© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday


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17 thoughts on “Compartmentalized

  1. So what you’re saying is… you might be a sea captain after all.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Oh wow, I love this. It reads like a country song. I especially love, “My nose grew more comfortable with the grindstone than it ever was with the stars.” I definitely want to make a tune out of that. Pure poetry.

    Liked by 3 people

  3. Complex makes an interesting person. No one will ever know who you are because if you’re anything like me, you’re still figuring that out. I change like the wind. I blow in with the storm creating havoc. Then blow back out to sea only to return as a soft gentle breeze.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Exactly how i feel but i never thought to say it.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Sometimes…I don’t know how far anyone feels or thinks it, I feel that the “thing” we are most fearful of is within us..and it’s called the mind…and it’s called the voices in our heads. So the question may be…are YOU safe…for you? hehe.

    Many years back, I was chatting with a friend…and we came up with this idea, that most all of us only show some parts of us to some people…different parts to different people..not consciously…it just happens.

    I feel the time when we are all of who we are is when we attain this knowing that who we are…all of who we beautiful and ok. We are ok and we!

    Liked by 3 people

  6. I wrote a poem once about building my wall so high that when I looked over it I didn’t see anything anymore. I don’t know if that is the same as many walls. Great post!

    Liked by 2 people

  7. I excavate caves instead of building walls … go deep inside, labyrinthine wanderings where no one can find me. Unless, to snatch your words, we go together because you are safe … ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  8. “Therefore, no matter what you may think you know about me, what you really know about me is what you and I discover, together.”

    I love this, it speaks to me.

    Liked by 1 person

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