I outreach my palm and grasp for a feeling of warmth,

But wrapped around my shaking hand is nothing but cold, stale air.

Fingers tracing the lines of veins, 

Like feet walking along driftwood.

But I stain my fingertips with dried blood.

And cover the pads of my feet in splinters.

Everything leaves its mark.

Living like canvases,

While life splatters it’s shades of light & dark on our skin.

Caught between a harsh stone grey & cloud white.

My life sketched in charcoal, 

Things like my depression, progression, & expression all written in ink. 

Like I said, everything leaves its mark.

So many moments folding gracefully like an origami crane, 

Beautiful for a second,

Then unfolding back to the dull form of a two-dimensional plane.

I’ve been blessed & cursed with an artist’s mind,

I can only see things differently.

All lines are blurry, all perceptions are abstract & easily skewed.

Everything leaves me feeling.

Feeling too much, too deep.

I experience life too vividly.

I had a dream that someone told me that I loved too much- that I shouldn’t feel things in explosions.

They said I was naive & gullible,

And these words cut so deeply,

Knowing that it is partly true from their outward perspective.

Knowing that’s the impression my gentle spirit tends to give. 

But I’m tired of being played for a fool,

In turn making me play myself for a fool.

If they only knew what goes on in my head,

If they only knew the depths of my oceans.

They only see the surface,

But I see the whole world at the bottom of my coffee cup.

They live their lives, numbly.

But sometimes I feel the sunset so deeply,

I want to kiss the sky.

I hold a universe inside that they’ll never get the chance to know,

For they only see scattered lines on a page & not the picture the lines make up,

They don’t see the story behind it all.

Just because I don’t say much,

Doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to say.

Just because I’m quiet,

Doesn’t mean my mind is quiet too.

I am like a paper airplane,

And their judgements are like paper weights,

At times they bring me down,

They try to convince me I was never meant to fly,

Because I am not sturdy & strong,

But I will show them that I can still soar with gentle grace.

I don’t need fury & force to navigate these stormy skies.

I turn to the whistling wind & a sky full of charted stars,

To help guide me through the turbulent currents.

As I fly far above the loveless world,

Covered in the traces that life left behind.

Even though I tread on in softness,

I am not naive & gullible.

I don’t love too much.

And my feelings, though different, are just as valid as your’s.

So give me the respect & compassion that I deserve,

Because, after all, I’m a human too.

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One thought on “It’s Okay To Be Gentle

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