I was never good at being soft
I used my words as arrows
I used my fists instead of helping hands
Because it made me stronger, braver, able to do things alone
Instead of asking for help,
I asked for challenges
Instead of putting on makeup,
I put on a mask.
I pretended that I hated beauty and softness
Because I thought softness and strength were different
So I boxed it all up
And put it away
Except on Sundays–sunday was for softness
Even if it was soluble
I found ways to make myself ugly during the week
Because beauty was weakness
And weakness was dangerous
And danger was scary
And softness and strength were opposites–
But they aren't
It's all the same
There is strength in softness and beauty in strength
It takes strength to be soft, and that's...transcendentially beautiful
Because in a world where everything is either
Beauty or strength
Softness or hardness
Courage or weakness
I can choose to be someone who is strong
And still be all the things that I want to be–
That I was made to be
I look up and think of God
Seeing His image in me
And He is both.
And He sees that beauty and strength in me
So why would I cover up
What He delights in?
Maybe God is what I was seeking all along
Because in his eternity, He is beautiful and strong.
And I should throw away my mask
But I feel like it's too late
This mask is fused to my face
And is it too hard?
Does the mask have to be broken?
Do I really have to rip it away?
I don't know if I want it to,
I just don't want it on anymore
But I want the backup plan
Of having it nearby
Just in case that lying voice
Comes back to tell me
That beauty and strength are not one
I find ways to make myself ugly
But all I really want
Is for fists to turn into helping hands
From me or from others.
My greatest desire
Is to be okay with asking for help
When I need it
What I want,
What I need,
What I crave,
What I pray for,
Is a strength beautiful enough
To be okay with weakness