Truffle Boundaries

My boundaries are not basic.
They are hand-shaved truffles
over fresh pasta in a restaurant
with no prices on the menu.

Rare.
Earthy.
An acquired taste.

And somehow, deeply offensive
to people accustomed
to unlimited access.

I have noticed this.

The moment a woman says no
with calm instead of apology,
society reacts as though
a chandelier has crashed into the soup.

But I have grown fond
of disappointing entitlement.

It keeps the air clean.

You cannot rush me anymore.
Not into conversation.
Not into labor.
Not into emotional negotiations disguised as “just checking in.”

No is no.
Silence is also no.
Delayed responses?
Often poetry.

I used to think boundaries
required hardness.
Steel. Walls.
Some dramatic exile from tenderness.

But real boundaries—
the luxurious kind—
are decadent.

They arrive slowly.
They do not yell.
They do not explain themselves to the point of exhaustion.

They simply exist
with the confidence of old money.

Darling, access is not a human right.

Not everyone gets backstage.
Not everyone gets my softness fresh from the oven.
Some people receive cordiality.
Some receive distance wrapped in cashmere.

Growth.

And let us be honest:
Many people only call boundaries “mean.”
when they are no longer benefiting
from your lack of them.

A tragedy.
Play the violin softly.

Now, when something drains me,
I leave.
When energy feels manipulative,
I decline dessert.
When someone confuses proximity for possession,
I become wonderfully unavailable.

Healthy, hydrated, unreachable.

There is humor in it now.
The kind that comes from finally realizing
peace is more attractive
than performance.

My life has become quieter
since I stopped handing out pieces of myself
like free samples at a luxury department store.

And what a miracle that has been.

Because boundaries, at their best,
are not punishment.

They are refined.

They are self-respect
with excellent posture.

A velvet rope around the soul.

And if that feels decadent to others,
So be it.

Truffles are not for everyone–

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