Soft: A poem

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I want to be soft

And gentle

I want someone to reach their fingers in my chest and not feel the shards of stray bullets cut their palms

I want someone to take my hands and not only feel the scars left behind by countless fights with myself

To see the violet of my knuckles and knees and all the scars in between as the same simple violet of spring-grown sweet peas

And brush my hair and see something other than a cold ocean in the blue of my eyes

Yes, I’m desperate for someone to see past the disguise that I’ve built so convincingly

My true palette of colors

Inhabited by blacks and grays alone

I just …

I just want to be soft and not hate myself after

I want to be gentle, not terrified of laughter

I want to be human and not despise the fact

That I’ve let all my demons come suddenly unpacked

I’ve grown tired of being hard and cut against my own edges

I just want to hold something and not be afraid they’ll grow tired of my calluses

And scars

And scabs

And leave me behind to freeze

Solid and unmoving

Perhaps this will happen another day

Another time

When I can be soft

And believe that it’s fine.


Contact Olivia Staser at [email protected].

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