"unsurpassable" poems - Hello Poetry

The stigma that sensitive people are weak needs to diminish. Just because she feels things down to her bones does not mean she is weak. She carries everything. Her feelings, other people’s feelings, the world around her as she takes it all in. * * * Sensitivity is deemed feeble. Thick-skinned people are the brave ones, right? They have endured so much that they no longer feel anything. Snide remarks, rude comments, and stressful situations roll off their skin like water during a storm. If it’s already pouring, why worry about each droplet? * * * That is the problem, she thought to herself. Are brave people truly brave? No. Brave people are the true cowards. Rather than taking their experiences and feeling them, letting them seep into their bones to become the marrow which fuels their bodies, they shut them away; skeletons in a closet. They have become numb to the baggage they carry at the expense of growing numb to everything else. * * * People around her are merely living in this world, she decided, whereas she was absorbing it. In the spring she lays in the grass, running her fingers through each blade as if it were the Earth’s hair. When summer nights bring a light breeze, she imagines spirits are hugging her. In the fall when it rains, she spreads her arms wide and gazes up to the sky, knowing that each water droplet that falls is Mother Nature peppering her skin with kisses. * * * Others are too preoccupied making sure their skeletons do not peer out of the closet. Strength, after all, is the ability to withstand vast amounts of pressure and God knows how much force those skeletons must bear. * * * In the middle of the night, her father hears her talking to someone, except there is no response. It is as if she is conversing with herself when in actuality, she is conversing with her skeletons. After midnight when others have drifted off to sleep, hoping that their skeletons do not come to haunt them, she is wide awake, her closet door open. She lays in bed and asks her anxiety how it’s day was, laughs at a witty comment that her depression has made about her life, and gives thanks to the insult a bully gave her in the first grade for making her the person she is today. The things that should weigh her down, she has befriended. They come to visit so often, anyways. * * * She wonders how someone who has mastered the art of suppressing their feelings is braver than someone who has mastered the art of acknowledging their feelings. The strength it takes to keep the closet door shut is immense. However, it takes an unsurpassable amount of resilience to carry the world in her heart and soul while still having the courage to open her closet without being afraid of the things that could jump out at her.

0

Feb 4, 2018

Feb 4, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC

edinette-dasalla

The True Strength of Weakness

The stigma that sensitive people are weak needs to diminish. Just because she feels things down to her bones does not mean she is weak. She carries everything. Her feelings, other people’s feelings, the world around her as she takes it all in. * * * Sensitivity is deemed feeble. Thick-skinned people are the brave ones, right? They have endured so much that they no longer feel anything. Snide remarks, rude comments, and stressful situations roll off their skin like water during a storm. If it’s already pouring, why worry about each droplet? * * * That is the problem, she thought to herself. Are brave people truly brave? No. Brave people are the true cowards. Rather than taking their experiences and feeling them, letting them seep into their bones to become the marrow which fuels their bodies, they shut them away; skeletons in a closet. They have become numb to the baggage they carry at the expense of growing numb to everything else. * * * People around her are merely living in this world, she decided, whereas she was absorbing it. In the spring she lays in the grass, running her fingers through each blade as if it were the Earth’s hair. When summer nights bring a light breeze, she imagines spirits are hugging her. In the fall when it rains, she spreads her arms wide and gazes up to the sky, knowing that each water droplet that falls is Mother Nature peppering her skin with kisses. * * * Others are too preoccupied making sure their skeletons do not peer out of the closet. Strength, after all, is the ability to withstand vast amounts of pressure and God knows how much force those skeletons must bear. * * * In the middle of the night, her father hears her talking to someone, except there is no response. It is as if she is conversing with herself when in actuality, she is conversing with her skeletons. After midnight when others have drifted off to sleep, hoping that their skeletons do not come to haunt them, she is wide awake, her closet door open. She lays in bed and asks her anxiety how it’s day was, laughs at a witty comment that her depression has made about her life, and gives thanks to the insult a bully gave her in the first grade for making her the person she is today. The things that should weigh her down, she has befriended. They come to visit so often, anyways. * * * She wonders how someone who has mastered the art of suppressing their feelings is braver than someone who has mastered the art of acknowledging their feelings. The strength it takes to keep the closet door shut is immense. However, it takes an unsurpassable amount of resilience to carry the world in her heart and soul while still having the courage to open her closet without being afraid of the things that could jump out at her.