Illusions

You never really do see me,
Which sounds so very odd
And yet the walls that came to be
The jail of my facade.

I've labored through so many years
To add each brick just right.
Within the walls and bars are fears.
No key is in my sight.

You also have not seen my jail,
Illusions help conceal
The parts of me that still prevail,
Which poems might reveal.

But if you never look beyond
The magic walls I use,
Then I will not hear you respond
In ways I wish you'd choose.