The Quiet Roar

I used to think strength was loud

doors slammed, voices raised,

a victory speech with fireworks

and somebody crying in the background.

﹁﹂

But lately, strength looks like

washing my face slow,

patting it dry

Like I’m worth the extra seconds.

﹁﹂

It looks like not texting back

When my chest starts begging

for crumbs dressed up as affection.

﹁﹂

It looks like breathing

through a trigger

Instead of turning it into a war.

﹁﹂

I learned gentleness in secret,

like a bad habit I didn’t want caught,

softness tucked into my sleeve

next to old bruises.

﹁﹂

I water my plants

even when I feel empty,

and they keep leaning toward the light

like they’ve forgiven the whole world.

﹁﹂

Some days I am still angry.

Some days I am just tired.

But I’m not cruel anymore

Not to myself, not even as a joke.

﹁﹂

That’s the roar nobody hears:

the steady choice

to stay tender

in a place that tried to harden me.

﹁﹂

My kindness isn’t weakness.

It’s a boundary with a pulse.

It’s thunder

wearing cotton.