#softbutstrong - Hello Poetry

You see, I’m naturally an introvert — quiet corners, deep thoughts, the type to overthink a handshake. But life? Life keeps putting me on stages, in conversations that feel like marathons for my soul. So yeah, stepping out as an extrovert? That’s not performance, that’s survival. A daily challenge with no dress rehearsal. I’m a softie — but not the breakable kind. No, this softness? It’s pressure-cooked from hard times. It knows the weight of silence, and how to turn pain into patience. I’m not here to pretend to be hard — I’m here to show that being real is rarer. Now, let’s talk love. I’m a full-blown lover boy — heart open, arms wide, playlist ready. But don’t get it twisted — I’m not in the business of having my love used as someone else’s stepping stone. I’ve retired from being the emotional charity. And my smile? Oh, it’s got layers. A whole palette of moods. Bright for the world, but the darker shades? Those are reserved. A private gallery. Only for the ones I cherish, the ones who earn the right to see me unfiltered. So if you meet me — don’t just notice the calm, or the kindness, or the charm. Know there’s a storm I’ve already walked through to be standing this still.

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Jun 6, 2025

Jun 6, 2025 at 4:06 PM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

Let Me Reintroduce Myself

You see, I’m naturally an introvert — quiet corners, deep thoughts, the type to overthink a handshake. But life? Life keeps putting me on stages, in conversations that feel like marathons for my soul. So yeah, stepping out as an extrovert? That’s not performance, that’s survival. A daily challenge with no dress rehearsal. I’m a softie — but not the breakable kind. No, this softness? It’s pressure-cooked from hard times. It knows the weight of silence, and how to turn pain into patience. I’m not here to pretend to be hard — I’m here to show that being real is rarer. Now, let’s talk love. I’m a full-blown lover boy — heart open, arms wide, playlist ready. But don’t get it twisted — I’m not in the business of having my love used as someone else’s stepping stone. I’ve retired from being the emotional charity. And my smile? Oh, it’s got layers. A whole palette of moods. Bright for the world, but the darker shades? Those are reserved. A private gallery. Only for the ones I cherish, the ones who earn the right to see me unfiltered. So if you meet me — don’t just notice the calm, or the kindness, or the charm. Know there’s a storm I’ve already walked through to be standing this still.

21

She will never know The violence it took To be this gentle.

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Jul 14, 2025

Jul 14, 2025 at 5:19 PM UTC

Ricardo

CALM

She will never know The violence it took To be this gentle.

3

I am not always okay- but I'm always trying. Some days, the weight is quiet. Other days, it screams through my bones and I still show up. I've learned to be the calm when nothing else is. To hold my own hand when no one else reaches for it. I do not need to be loud to be strong. I do not need to be seen to be real. And if I am only a soft kind of brave- that's still brave enough.

0

Apr 15, 2025

Apr 15, 2025 at 3:54 PM UTC

Nev18

Things I Never Say Out Loud

I am not always okay- but I'm always trying. Some days, the weight is quiet. Other days, it screams through my bones and I still show up. I've learned to be the calm when nothing else is. To hold my own hand when no one else reaches for it. I do not need to be loud to be strong. I do not need to be seen to be real. And if I am only a soft kind of brave- that's still brave enough.

18

Come close. Closer than comfort allows. Not with your eyes — with your breath, Let it graze the edge of my truth. I stand in armor that fits like skin, Shimmering, seamless, hard to touch. You think you know me from what you see — But you only know my outside much. My strength sits tailored around my hips, My brave fastened tight at my chest. I move like I’m steady, like nothing slips — Like every scar has already been blessed. But press your ear to the quiet of me, Listen where silence runs deep. There’s a trembling rhythm you’ll barely see — A heart that still learns how to sleep. Beneath this metal, beneath this show, Where daylight never quite dares — My body remembers what people don’t know, Soft and alive in my underwear. Like lace holding stories against my skin, Like cotton absorbing my cries, That’s where the war truly lives within — Hidden behind polished eyes. You see my smile — clean, composed, sincere — You think it means I’m repaired. But lean in close… can you feel the fear Still breathing under what I wear? My scars are intimate — they know my scent, They curve with every breath I take. They whisper of nights I was nearly spent, And mornings I forced myself awake. I don’t wear them loud on my outer face — I keep them close, warm, and bare. Tucked in the sacred, private place Where no one looks — but they’re there. Touch my silence — feel it shake, Feel how fragile it can be. Real strength is not what I make — It’s what I let you see in me. Because I am not only steel or flame, Not only bold or unafraid. I am trembling, tender, carrying shame — And still choosing light I made. I break. I bleed. I burn. I mend. I fall to my knees and rise again. Half-armored. Half-open. Half-held by air. Whole in my heart — even when I’m bare. So don’t love the armor and miss the skin, Don’t worship the shine and ignore the tear. If you walk gently enough within — You’ll find your own wounds waiting there. Because we are all soft somewhere, All hiding pain we rarely share. We are fire, fear, love, and prayer — Human, hurting, healing — Under what we wear. And even stripped down, bruised and aware, I rise from the ruin that lived back there. Steel on the surface — alive, laid bare — Unbreakable, breathing Under what I wear.

0

Feb 7

Feb 7, 2026 at 11:31 AM UTC

Anonymous_Flame

Under What I Wear

Come close. Closer than comfort allows. Not with your eyes — with your breath, Let it graze the edge of my truth. I stand in armor that fits like skin, Shimmering, seamless, hard to touch. You think you know me from what you see — But you only know my outside much. My strength sits tailored around my hips, My brave fastened tight at my chest. I move like I’m steady, like nothing slips — Like every scar has already been blessed. But press your ear to the quiet of me, Listen where silence runs deep. There’s a trembling rhythm you’ll barely see — A heart that still learns how to sleep. Beneath this metal, beneath this show, Where daylight never quite dares — My body remembers what people don’t know, Soft and alive in my underwear. Like lace holding stories against my skin, Like cotton absorbing my cries, That’s where the war truly lives within — Hidden behind polished eyes. You see my smile — clean, composed, sincere — You think it means I’m repaired. But lean in close… can you feel the fear Still breathing under what I wear? My scars are intimate — they know my scent, They curve with every breath I take. They whisper of nights I was nearly spent, And mornings I forced myself awake. I don’t wear them loud on my outer face — I keep them close, warm, and bare. Tucked in the sacred, private place Where no one looks — but they’re there. Touch my silence — feel it shake, Feel how fragile it can be. Real strength is not what I make — It’s what I let you see in me. Because I am not only steel or flame, Not only bold or unafraid. I am trembling, tender, carrying shame — And still choosing light I made. I break. I bleed. I burn. I mend. I fall to my knees and rise again. Half-armored. Half-open. Half-held by air. Whole in my heart — even when I’m bare. So don’t love the armor and miss the skin, Don’t worship the shine and ignore the tear. If you walk gently enough within — You’ll find your own wounds waiting there. Because we are all soft somewhere, All hiding pain we rarely share. We are fire, fear, love, and prayer — Human, hurting, healing — Under what we wear. And even stripped down, bruised and aware, I rise from the ruin that lived back there. Steel on the surface — alive, laid bare — Unbreakable, breathing Under what I wear.

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