I am both the calm and the chaos.

The healer with hands that still remember the pain.

The lover who stayed long after love was gone.

I’ve been split open where no one could see,

stitched myself shut with silence,

and taught my tears how to speak in tongues of strength.

I rose from the fire that tried to erase me,

bloomed in soil that once sought to bury me.

Soft does not mean fragile—

it means I’ve bled without turning bitter.

Strong does not mean hard—

it means I’ve suffered and stayed open anyway.

I walk that edge between holy and wild,

never asking to be smaller just to be safe.

They call me too much, too deep, too untamed—

but understand: I didn’t come here to blend in.

I came to wake the parts of you

you were told to silence.

I’m not here to be explained.

I’m here to be felt.

T.A Hoyt