At some point we learn

to limit the pain we allow.

Since no one forces us to feel,

we must choose what

and how to suffer.

Brilliantly we will,

whether we like it or not,

allow a chosen few

behind our walls and beyond.

In a way, aren’t we our own vault?

Much less private than we dare to admit

and much more private than we offer to share.

Each his own archive—

Each his own judge—

We can only tolerate so much.

So that if and when these walls are forced,

pried open like steel bars, we’ll know.

And it’s there you’ve got to choose.

Do I sit and suffer knowingly, or

stand up and face my keeper.