A Softer Spine

I used to think strength meant armor

a jaw set like stone,

a heart locked up

with the spare key thrown away.

﹁﹂

I tried that.

It made me look fine in photos,

But I couldn’t breathe.

Even my laughter sounded clipped,

like it was afraid of being used.

﹁﹂

Now I’m learning a softer spine

still upright,

still mine,

but not sharp enough

to cut everyone who gets close.

﹁﹂

It looks like saying,

“No, I won’t do that,”

and not explaining for twenty minutes

So nobody thinks I’m mean.

﹁﹂

It looks like letting someone help me

carry the heavy bag

without calling myself a burden.

(That part is hard. Still.)

﹁﹂

It looks like walking away

without hate in my mouth,

without revenge as fuel,

just a clear boundary

and a steady pulse.

﹁﹂

I still cry sometimes

When I stand up for myself

It’s embarrassing, honestly

But maybe tears are just proof

I’m alive in my own body again.

﹁﹂

I can be tender

and unmovable.

I can be gentle

and done.

﹁﹂

If that isn’t strength,

Then I don’t want the kind

that turns you into ice.