Guard of Sharp Leaves

My edges grew pointed, rough, and strong, where hurt had cut and taught me right from wrong. They judge my sharpness as a cruel display — not knowing I built them to keep harm away. Like spiked green leaves around a golden heart, I stand between my love and every part of cold neglect, of words that bruise and break, of those who take all I have to give and take. My boundaries are not walls to shut them out, but shields to keep what matters safe and stout. Let others call me hard or distant, cold — I guard the softest, dearest things I hold. Behind this prickly fence my bloom can grow, my children rest safe, and my true self glow. Sharp leaves for safety, softness deep inside — the only way I’ve learned to love and bide.