Stay Soft

I’m having a hard time accepting I’m soft–
soft stomach, soft heart,
my soft way of telling others
I’m having a hard time.
It leaves me hesitating at mirrors,
sucking in air to remove precious spaces,
spaces I want people to take
but I wouldn’t say it to their faces.
You see, I forget mirrors
don’t show how his hands hold my curves
like he wants to know me better,
our breaths caught between
the heart and throat,
or how her eyes are clouded
with the same heat she feels
when grazing your hipbones, she reels,
willing her fingers to stop shaking.
I forget softness isn’t weakness
and that weakness isn’t a bad thing.
You don’t have to be their doormat,
but you can be their ‘welcome home,’
You don’t have to leave the door unlocked,
but you can give them the key.
I forget hard times don’t have to be had alone,
something I tell everyone
but neglect to tell myself.
Maybe I’m not having a hard time
accepting I’m soft but remembering
what’s important:
being the best damn big spoon,
house guests, and staying soft.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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