Softness Without Punishment

I was quiet when it started. But I was already breaking. A child with grown-up eyes. And no room to be shaken. I learned how to carry things No one else could hold. And now my back aches From stories I never told. I was the strong one, Cause someone had to be. But strength without rest Isn't strength, it's a plea. I wasn't built for this, For all the weight I bore. They handed me a legacy Of pain and called it war. I stitched myself in silence, With thread made out of graves. But I've been bleeding through the seams Since the day I learned my place. (...) I don't want to be inspiring. I want to be okay. I want to cry without apology And leave when it's not safe. I want to sleep through a night Without scanning for threats. I want a body that doesn't Confuse love with regret. I want softness Without punishment. And room to fall apart Without someone calling it resilience or art. They say I'm brave. But I'm just practiced at hiding collapse, At laughing through shutdowns, At scheduling grief Between doctor's appointments And 3 p.m. calls, Where I smile and say no problem at all. I wasn't built for this But I'm still standing here. And maybe that's survival. Or maybe it's just fear. I don't need a crown Or another damn test. I just want to rest in a world That doesn't make softness a threat. I was built from ashes, Not armor. But they never let me burn. So I lived like a match, With no one to warm. And I still don't know How to hold myself Without flinching. I wasn't built for this, For all the weight I bore. They handed me a legacy Of pain and called it war. I wasn't built for this, But I'm still standing here. And maybe that's survival. Or maybe it's just fear.