“Your softness never goes to waste.”

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.

If my skin is going to crawl, I pray it crawls into safer spaces.

I am learning that most of my fear of others is my own judgment of myself.

It is a valuable thing to learn the difference between who is in your corner and who is in your way.

Let your love be bigger than your anger.

For each person you encounter is also you.

Letting go is actually the easiest decision we can make. We become so adapted to the weight of our heavy hearts that being light again is a foreign language.

Softer memories once lived there. Where there is now burning. Where there is now blood.

In our society we have hard nerds and soft nerds.

Soft Left, Hard Right, Soft Right and Centre. I am not listed. I should probably come under Soft Centre.

You have belonged better in your own arms than in anyone else’s. Remember you are the softest love you will ever have.

Where you are tender, you speak your plural.

Why am I so soft in the middle when the rest of my life is so hard?

The 1990s were also when a bunch of the soft-shoe language for race, gender, and class became paramount.

Be Hard on the issue, Soft on the person.