Why must the outside always find its way in?

Why must it infringe on my selfish little world?

Here I sit content, surrounded by my own half truths,

believable stories, and rewritten memories

protecting me from the reality without.

Yes I hear the knock on the door.

Looking through the peephole,

I see them standing there,

clutter and chaos, discord and despair.

Am I forced to draw back the latch,

and accept their company?

No, I hesitate and take a quick step back.

Give me happy contentment,

even if I am not aware.