I am not.
All those other things I've been called? Yes, whether I applaud your nerve or shake my head at your ignorance, most of those labels fit just fine.
I am a mouth full of seemingly unfiltered thoughts. I am eyes that have seen straight through masks. I am fists clenched in anger and feet ready to run.
I know I am hard, and I have very little use for those who want me to pretend otherwise.
I am full of edges carved by hands not skilled in careful or beauty or love.
Venturing into me isn't for the weak minded or those just looking for a challenge. Honestly, there are very few times I'm not holding my own breath when trying to climb inside my thoughts. Those who have been here before left behind cliffs not safe for diving and walls not made for climbing.
The few who have ever tried to navigate my danger have all turned back. It's not worth it. The fight seems endless, the reward less than glorious.
No, I am not easy. And, yes, even "hard" seems light handed.
But, my God, I care. Immeasurably. Unendingly. Silently.
When I love, it's without boundary marked in time or pain. When I feel, it has no bottom. When I hand over my words, know that I have no other gift.
The edges protect me and the darkness comforts me. These are not choices I made, and I would absolutely prefer the cream filled center of a teddy bear heart.
But I can't pretend to be blind when the brush of a hand is sensory overload.
I am not easy and probably not worth the effort. These things are true, yet I love anyway.
Because no one promised it would be easy. Because the center may not be soft, but it is safe. Because I want there to be a reward if ever I become worth it. And because, while it is not pretty, all of these edges have to be protecting something.
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