I was soft (a poem)

It’s an age old story,
one that is not mine alone.

It can be seen in many of the faces
we pass on the street each day.

It’s easily discerned,
if you know what to look for.

You see, many others have walked this same road,
dwelt in a house of similar construction,

a childhood room,
curtains drawn,
they sit in the dark,
back pressed against the door,
ever bracing for…

I was gentle,
kind,
accepting,
sweet-natured,
caring,
calm,
a bit silly at times,
happy,

innocent,
gullible,

a target.

…and now, I was their target.

They told me…


“You have to stand up for yourself.”

“You can’t do that.”

“You are such a…”

“You have to be willing to fight.”

That’s what they said.

What I heard…

“You need to be like me.

…or else.”

The people who were supposed to protect me
had become my bullies, full-time.

so, like many others,
I fell in line.

The problem is,
in doing so,
I had betrayed myself;
it was a betrayal of everything I am
at my core.

I was taught to be strong,
serious,
logical,
unyielding,
judgmental,
loud,
emotionally disconnected,
explosive,
cruel,
a fighter,
no longer a target,

but, truth is, I was never safe.

It took years
to dig my way out,
through piles of suitcases
packed tight with guilt and shame,
worn out teddy bears,
broken records,
and the unresolved trauma.

Be careful,
the paper bags,
you shoved in the back,
they’ve begun to rot.



If you’re not careful,
it’ll all come spillling out
into the hallway
for everyone to see.

At a point, I realized that it had to,
come pouring out,

…all of it.

If I ever wanted to be free,
I had to let it all go.
I had to be honest,
for once.



Only then could I sift through it all,
to rediscover the pieces of me;
the pieces that were true,
that were real.

…the parts that I wanted to carry through life with me.

Now and then,
I will discover the odd orange peel
in my pocket,
a rotten banana
stuck to my shoe.

I am always discarding the garbage
and finding new parts of me hidden beneath.

I think I always will be
cleaning up this mess
that is me,

Marie Kondo-ing my inner self.
evaluating what brings me joy
and what doesn’t.

Still, they exert power over me
when they can.

To them, my softness
is like an open door,
my perceived weakness
a doormat
they don’t intend to use.

The dirt they track in,
has the power to soil my soul
and break my spirit
leaving stains on my psyche
too deep to remove.

Unless, in that moment, I tell myself…

I am not what they made me.

I am purposely innocent,
because I would rather be taken advantage of
than to be hard-hearted toward those in need.

I allow myself to feel the impact of people’s words,
even when it hurts.

I am unyielding in my honesty,
though some may never understand.

I am sad but hopeful,
afraid yet brave.

I am strong in my softness.

…and I am willing to fight my demons to remain so.

~ elr

Image: ID 56650361 © Panya Anakotmankong | Dreamstime.com