The Anger Inside or My Walls

Sometimes i build walls
sometimes they're simple sand dunes changing with the winds that tear them down or build them up
sometimes they are made of clay hardening under the sun of a heated argument and turning to a kind of cement that like a mobster i could use to make cement shoes and send my enemies to the bottom of some blue lagoon
Most of the time though they are brick walls simple tough unrelenting towards the element you wish you could call your surprise
they hurt as your knuckles scrape down their sides cutting your skin and drawing forth little rivulets of blood, abrasive like the fivestar you want to give me across my cheek
 but wear at them long enough and they crumble to the red dust you can never get out of those perfect white tennis shoes you always wear.
It's the wearing down part that hurts the most because not just my walls crumble but i watch you as your hands rise to the sky in the hope that some star will take pity on you and the battles you fight every time i raise my voice towards some injustice i witness in my minds eye