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.