The tortoise is a gentle placid creature with a hard shell,
Peeking his head and limbs out
Ambling along
Eating lettuce and grapes
Slowly, calmly, patiently,
Knowing he can retreat into the safety and comfort of his shell
Whenever he feels in danger,
Or to rest, to recuperate, to sleep.

I feel like a tortoise
With my hard shell,
Rarely peeking my head out
But when I do,
Rather than gentleness,
There’s aggression,
Attacking with barbed words that
Slice like a knife through kindness proffered,
My filter of negativity, distrust and insecurity
Biting the hand of anyone who dares get close
Scaring them off
Before retreating back inside my shell
Bruised and battered,
But rather than being a safe haven, a home, a place of comfort,
It’s full of pain, torment and loneliness