Running List

I worry about my softness

In every definition of the word

The softness of my heart, it is so composed of flesh and vulnerable,

it’s beats as it should, when it should,

but it perks up at any attention/approval/validation

as if that is needed more for its existence/function

rather than the iron filled blood it pumps.

This heart longs to be seen/heard/understood

as more than just the vital organ it is.

It is soft.

I worry about the softness of my middle

not just the soul that resides there

though that is also soft,

but the place that held and created life.

Something out of absolutely nothing.

There are lines on my body that will never forget

the labor of forging new life.

They are a map drawn to connect the dots of a new creature.

This makes me soft/warm/unapologetic

I can’t be sorry about it, but I can be insecure/hesitant/afraid

especially for those who do not understand

or value the power that is held within the middle of a woman

To make another is to split yourself in two

I have done this three times

I split myself in two to create.

This is a victory

not a head hanging low over the softness left in the wake of the splitting.

These are the blue prints left behind on the skin of a mother.

This makes me a champion.

I worry about the softness of my base.

These too wide hips that have held/jostled/juggled

child after child into a slumber after a fit of restlessness

The softness of a place to sit with a human on each warm wide thigh, a home.

I worry about the softness of my arms that have picked up/penned/prayed/praised

Hoped

They are strong, even in their softness.

Vulnerability is the definition of actual strength. The world works so hard, for us to get hard. But I will cling to my softness. I won’t get hard. I will remain soft, in every definition of the word.

I am a home to life, I am warmth/soft/depth/a blanket on the couch/an embrace in distress

a place to call home.

I can’t be anything else.