#softstrength
I am being taught by mornings now,
not by books,
but by the quiet way sunlight enters
without asking permission.
Once, I placed my weight on a shadow,
believing it would hold
because it always walked beside me.
I did not notice
how it thinned
when the clouds gathered.
Lately, my hands have learned
new habits—
how to steady a trembling cup,
how to fasten buttons alone,
how to wait without looking at the door.
There was a time
I mistook closeness for shelter,
mistook words for walls,
mistook presence for promise.
Need arrived like a storm,
and I watched the horizon answer instead of you.
So I am learning—
the way rivers learn new paths
after the bridge gives up.
Not in anger,
not in blame,
but in the soft discipline of survival.
Each day removes a thread
from the rope I tied around you,
and knots it gently
around my own wrists.
This is not distance.
This is gravity correcting itself.
This is me discovering
that even abandoned seeds
can teach themselves
how to reach the light.
Feb 1
Feb 1, 2026 at 8:52 AM UTC
Even when the body is tea,
She drinks a lot of coffee —
Just to keep her grind in
_A man’s world_
Don’t you spoil the tea, of the
Long steeping, burned tongue
And cups swallowed too fast —
Of all it took to fill her brim.
Dec 15, 2025
Dec 15, 2025 at 4:14 PM UTC
Life isn’t always so amazing —
it’s a network of paths, __tangled__ and __shifting__,
Where choices loop back,
and clarity takes the long way home.
But it’s not a maze thing.
There’s no clever exit, no final door.
Just detours, delays,
and questions that don’t come with maps.
It’s a hostile universe —not always loud,
but indifferent in the quietest ways.
A basic existence where even the basics
don’t always feel like they’re enough.
You breathe, you eat, you sleep —
but some days you feel so empty.
Like the days are leaning too hard
against your chest.
Some days, survival feels like success.
Other days, it feels like something
just shy of being a complete failure.
But even in that, there’s a small defiance —
to keep walking anyway,
to speak kindly into the static,
to carve out a corner of warmth
where no warmth was promised.
Not because it fixes the universe —
but because it changes you.
And maybe that’s enough
for now.
Jul 25, 2025
Jul 25, 2025 at 12:24 PM UTC
It went quiet
Not because it gave up
Bt because it was saving me.
It felt too much
So it chose silence
Over shuttering.
It held the storm
Behind closed doors
So I could keep breathing.
It's not numb
Just protecting
What's still healing
Jul 6, 2025
Jul 6, 2025 at 10:04 AM UTC
It told me
the faster you run,
the more you miss.
That growing up
isn't something you notice-
until you can't go back.
It said
you will lose people
who loved you deepley,
and still feel like it was your fault.
And letting go?
It's not peace at first.
Sometimes it feels like
betrayal
with a ribbon on it.
I asked,
how do I know I'm doing it right?
Time exhaled.
And said,
"Because it hurts less
than holding on did."
Apr 15, 2025
Apr 15, 2025 at 3:44 PM UTC
It told me
you can survive anything
if you're quiet about it.
That healing
looks a lot like pretending-
until it doesn't.
It said
love won't save you
if you keep offering it
as proof
you're worth saving.
And forgiveness?
It's not always holy.
Sometimes it's
just surrender
in a prettier dress.
I asked,
when do I become enough?
The mirror blinked.
And said,
"When you stop asking."
Apr 13, 2025
Apr 13, 2025 at 11:20 PM UTC