I might spend less time hurting if I had a thicker skin.

I could leave cuts and bruises to fester, let scar tissue creep over the wounds…

I could build the walls higher,

Lock myself in a tower

And sleep for a hundred years.

I could wrap harshness around me, like a coat, against the wind

Carefully presenting an image of indifference

Could I be safe, after all this time

*

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but only words can hurt me.

*

Hard, brittle things crack under pressure.

Softness doesn’t break.

Strength, toughness, resilience…

These things are not won by the people who lock their hearts away for safekeeping, who have numbed the pain until they can’t feel anything at all.

Even if they seem unbreakable on the outside, it comes at a price.

Close your eyes and tilt your face towards the sun.

Unlock the doors, push down the walls like dominoes

Go to the healers, care for the wounds.

Cry, if you need to, if words have ever hurt you, if you buried the pain long ago. Let it out, let it unravel, let it dissolve, and then breathe in the relief.

It’s okay, here, and you can come back any time you need.

I am starting to think that the strongest people in the world are probably also the most unexpected.

*

Hope it’s a good night.