Poem: The Art of Boundaries

In quiet spaces where we dwell,
Lie lines we draw, both forged and fell—
Some cast in stone, some made of air,
Yet, each one whispers, “Do not dare.”

A fence may frame a patch of land,
A door may close with gentle hand;
But deeper still, unseen, unsaid,
Are borders drawn inside our head.

An arm’s-length held in crowded rooms,
A sacred pause where silence blooms—
The breath we guard, the gaze we turn,
The lessons hard and slow to learn.

For not all touch is meant to stay,
Not every soul must know our way;
We choose what enters, what remains,
What lifts us up, what ties in chains.

Energetic walls, so soft, so wise,
Glow golden under weary skies—
No anger forged their firm design,
But love that says, “This self is mine.”

A boundary is not a blade,
But something healing, gently made;
A garden gate, not prison bar,
A way to know just who we are.

So draw your circle, tend your space,
Move with intent, with grounded grace;
And know in all you hold or share—
True strength is choosing when to care.