Boundaries.

Boundaries are such a strange thing-
invisible and intangible
and yet they make a sound
so harsh
when broken,
like ice
shattering across
a frozen lake
that splinters
into a spider web
around me
as I fall.

Even when the question was asked,
silence had made a scaffolding of my voice.
I did not know how to speak,
to tell you I did not like your touch.

Boundaries are such a strange thing-
when every no has been tossed aside,
it feels like being bound-
I think you would have listened,
if I had been able to
speak out
my discomfort and distress,
but I didn't know how,
and then it just felt
like my fault.

From the first time
I said no in life (was i
three,
or four, or five?)
I saw
it was futile.
It was almost as though
it made it worse,
to have it brushed so carelessly
aside, like there never had been
any choice,
in return it rebounded
to inform me
that my life would be pandered
to someone else's diction (a child
should not concern themselves
with far flung notions of human rights)
and
mutiny was a punishable offence.

So I learned
to remember how to keep my larynx
swallowing the word,
because the boundaries
that should have kept me safe
were so pointless,
knocked over so effortlessly,
no thought required.

I learnt the skill a little too well.

In the present
with you,
I push back
through gesture and movement
trying to tell you
that I don't want this,
but my nuance is too subtle,
it does not translate-
you are ignorant of the
language of my body.

So I run.
Run run run.
into my solitude,
because there
maybe I can learn
what it means
to dissect
the spaces between us-
my skin the map
of a country
you cannot invade,
the strength of my no
a weapon
you cannot ignore,
immovable and direct-
do not come near me,
this is not a war
you can win.