"I'm hard," I tell myself. I won't cry although my feelings are hurt. I won't cry although I am angry as hell and have all this pent up rainbow of emotions stewing inside of me. My sadness and fear running through my veins like a dangerous river. Adrenaline shoots out of me as quick as a speeding bullet. Hard people are strong. They are desirable. They never seem to falter or cry on the job. They are always placated, collectively assessing the situation. Emotions do not control their every awaken hours here on Earth. This is what I tell myself. Day in. Day out. To be honest, I do not remember a time I was "hard". I have, time and time again, set myself up when that swell of tears gather at the inner creases of my eyes. When I was younger I would try to have a "hard" exterior. But all who knew me knew it was a façade. A seemingly built in barricade to the unworthy trust of others; who had come before me. You see, I've always had a weak heart. Growing up I thought it was because I had a weak soul or willpower. But I know now that that's not necessarily the case in y situation. I am trying to find power not in my "hardness" but in my softness. Maybe that is the direction I should go, to be free and be me in all of my soft, squishiness.