I’ve Been Known to Cross Lines

I’ve been known

to cross lines—

not the ones painted on roads,

but the invisible ones

people draw around themselves

and call safety.

I don’t always see them

until I’ve already stepped over,

already said too much,

felt too deeply,

stayed too long

or left too soon.

They say I blur things—

boundaries,

meanings,

the space between what’s allowed

and what’s real.

Maybe I do.

Maybe I’ve spent too long

living in places

where lines kept moving,

where rules changed

depending on who was watching.

So I learned

to trust instinct

over permission,

feeling over distance,

truth over comfort.

And yeah—

sometimes that costs me.

Sometimes I lose people

who needed things cleaner,

clearer,

easier to define.

But I was never built

for neat edges.

I exist

in the in-between—

where things are messy,

honest,

alive.

So if I cross a line,

it’s not always rebellion.

Sometimes

it’s just me

refusing to pretend

I don’t feel

what I feel.