My lines are self-drawn. They used to be in indelible ink, now they are mostly in pencil. Some, though, will always be permanent. I hope if I travel along them long enough I will find a break in them. That they too will fade and I will be able to cross over to the next line.
My lines are self-drawn but made thicker by them. Those unseen, unheard and unknown judgements that do not exist in reality but I perceive them as real. I see, hear and know them. It is these that cause the most pain and fear. It is these that are the most harmful.
I can work at drawing in pencil, eraser ready at hand. But they are, seemingly, highlighters that cover the pencil making the lines permanent.
My lines are self-drawn. Yet I draw them for others. They are invisible. They exist. They take their toll. Some are crossed with ease, others never are. I don't know how to undraw them, how to not draw them.
My borders are self-drawn. They need to be indelible but aren't. I set them up and they drift or fade when faced with reality.
By trying to cross the lines, I cross the borders. I wish I didn't have to. I wish they were immutable. They are my sanity and my worth.