“Your softness never goes to waste.”

Stare hard at the hurt. Ask why it stings. Dig into the root and rip it out. It doesn’t have to stay there just because it grew there.

And who will advocate for me? Me. Even when it feels lonely. Lonely is where we grow the most.

Love does not equate staying quiet. Sometimes it has to be outspoken, always loud, and forever on fire.

I must be worth something if my heart thinks so.

And what happens when you run out of words? You listen. Deeply. To everything around you.

Maybe I am something special but nothing spectacular.

I am hell-bent on loving my hell.

Think of how good tomorrow might be.

I love my sadness because it is honest.

You write poems or you are a poem. That is where you’ll shine.

Your love is only as good as your intention.

Your trauma is never indicative of who you are and how well you deserve to be loved.

Meet me with authenticity or not at all.

Do you see who I am beyond your judgment? I lay with my core, and there is a force in there.

Don’t fear it. That pull between your heart and mind. It is trying to teach you. It is learning your language.

It’s hard to know who I am when who I am always swallows me whole.

Hills that stand soft and a sky that stands high and blue, and the sun setting behind a windmill, and always, always, hazy strings of mountains that fall and fall away on the horizon.

This softness is a double-edged sword it keeps me kind but it can always be used against me.

I came into this world screaming. I plan to leave it quieter, softer and letting everything I’ve done do the talking.

I am not supportive not fond of nor proud of my self-abuse. I carry untold debt to my soul. It is the least I can do, to be gentle with it.

Mother, I want to die this world is too cruel and I am too fragile.

To get closer to Truth and Right, we need a beautiful and soft heart.

She is singing you a lullaby, soften and you will hear her song.

She wore softness as her crown.