Soft, rewritten

A poem on how soft is the peace when you’ve already survived what tried to break you

They told me to toughen up,
so I did.
Fists closed, jaw set, miles logged,
heart quiet.

I learned to outwork the ache,
to meet pain with pace,
to turn hurt into hunger.

But here’s the thing—
grit never meant armor.
Resilience doesn’t always roar.

Sometimes it looks like staying kind
when it’d be easier not to.
Sometimes it’s crying
and not apologizing for it.
Sometimes it’s choosing rest
before the world says you’ve earned it.
Sometimes it’s saying enough
before you’re empty.

Soft is the after.
The peace that comes
when you’ve already survived
what tried to break you.

It’s the hand that unclenches,
the breath that deepens,
the body that no longer bristles at stillness.

It’s not the absence of strength.
It’s the proof of it.
The quiet kind.
The kind that doesn’t need to prove anything at all.

Ps. Listened to this song while writing this lil poem :)