I do not like being called a strong woman, it triggers this fear that my above average articulation is just aggression said with a smile, My loud opinions are just outlandish outbursts wearing a dress, that my dedication is just delusion drenched in a child’s dreams waiting till come true, my independence is just insanity with innocent eyes, My beauty is watered down with bossy written on my forehead in lipstick for everyone to see, I do not like it when others call it a gift that when I walk through the door people turn to hear me speak, I desperately wish I did not have to suck up so much air in the room to breathe comfortably, I swear it's an accident, it is from a child with a severe lack of attention I want to be small I want to fit in the hands of people I love instead of carrying their bodies on my back, waiting for the next person to carry to safety, I want to be soft, but I am too severe, I want to be a fragile woman for when I have fine glass plates I handle them with care for fear they will break, but when a rock with its roughness lays in my hands, I throw it to the ground, will I ever be fragile enough to fit into someone’s Palms? Will I always be the fingers covered in calluses fixing the things that break? I do not like to be called a strong woman, because it proves I am not small enough to fit into the cracks in the walls. To be quiet enough to be seen not just heard. I am not quite enough to hear others tell me they love me, I am not weak enough to be considered something to be put in safekeeping, I am not fragile enough to be worthy of handling with care, I am not soft enough to feel inner peace, for the stronger I am seen as the more rocks are thrown at me, the more it feels like a grain of salt chipping at me away slowly, do people not realize my constant guilt is a cry for boundaries, for I am not as strong as I appear, on the inside I am as weak as I appear strong, is it my fault I was born with the steel mask for an exterior, do not call me a strong woman, for the stronger I am seen as the weaker I feel, I used to put my armor on a hanger and place it right next to my clothes before bed Let my skin breathe when no one was around. I used to close myself in an overabundance of certainty for fear I will be seen as something they could break, something they could never see as worth fixing. But it doesn’t come off anymore. I’m suffocated with it until I tear it off my flesh. I am up all night poked and prodded by my own superhero suit, I am up till dawn wait for the pain to stop, but I’m trapped underneath the expectations freely thrown onto someone who can take it who is strong enough to hold them I am longing for someone to break it someone who sees me worthy of handling with care, just a soft woman who needs some repair, who has confused the word strength with the word despair.