Boundaries

A poem about the quiet work of holding space for yourself, even when the lines you draw keep being redrawn by someone else.

BOUNDARIES

An invisible line 	      that which should never be crossed
or so I have been told.
All of my comfort 	all of my security
strapped to my body 		where I stand on my side of the border.
Yet you always seem to find ways 		to smudge the lines.
Waved off like a puff of smoke.
As if they had only been drawn in chalk
and last night’s rainstorm washed away the strokes.
The ones that I continue to make;		my arm is sore from the movement
of creating a circle around myself			     and now my family.
The thick band I’m placing 		only sets the illusion of a threshold.
Because here we are again
and here I am standing	     with all my lines drawn
and there they go	        blowing away
with the gusts 	    of wind		  that you have brought in.