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, Thereβs 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, Itβs full of pain, torment and loneliness