Home is where my blanket holds me close

I like to hide under the covers of my bed. I curl up and become the armadillo and dig my way into my underground tunnels, my burrows. Elaborate. Twisting. Dirt tunnels built by my hands. A world of hand made rooms and chambers. I hide myself in these spacious dirt cavities and I am at home. I hide bits and pieces of myself sporadically in this home. Each room holds a different chapter or what not or other of me. I do this simply for defense. Much like the leathery hard armor shell that protects me from harm, these rooms filled with my words, my feelings, my fears, my happiness protect me from the outside world. I'm hard to get. You can stare at me for hours and not know or understand what I have said or what I am thinking. I dare you to try. It doesn't matter where my head lies, I will always be sheltered by these tunnels that hold me so closely. I will always be safe at home, wrapped in my bed thinking of new and elaborate ways to fold myself into a curl and hide everything about me.