POEM: Soft Again

After everything that taught me to be hard

I learned to be sharp
before I learned to be safe.
I learned to brace.
To prepare.
To hold my breath through rooms.

I called it strength.

Shoulders high.
Jaw tight.
Heart on standby.

Softness came later.
Not all at once.
Not dramatically.
It was hesistant.
And it came in small permissions.

It wasn't weakness.

Resting without guilt.
Laughing without checking the room.
Letting silence exist without filling it.

For a long time,
my body lived 
like something bad was about to happen.
But nothing did.
And I noticed.

It was the absence of fear.

It was breathing all the way in.
It was trusting the floor to hold me.
It was choosing not to flinch.

Becoming soft again
meant putting down armour
I didn’t remember picking up.

Now when peace arrives,
I let it stay.
I don’t question it.
I don’t rush past it.
I rest inside it.

Soft is not fragile.
Soft is healed.
Soft is finally safe enough to be open.