Some days, I don’t really want to be seen. Not in the dramatic, hiding-under-a-blanket way, just… not all the way out there. I wake up, make my coffee, and sit by the window with my hoodie half on, half off, scrolling through my phone. There’s this quietness in my chest that feels like a friend who doesn’t talk much but always shows up.
I think about how much space I take up in the world, how my queerness and my Blackness both feel loud sometimes, even when I’m not trying. There’s this small relief in just being alone with myself, not worrying if I’m “too much” or “not enough” for anyone else. I laugh at a meme I would never show my mom, and it feels good, just for me.
Being soft isn’t always about being open or vulnerable with others. Sometimes it’s just letting myself sit with my own feelings, not trying to fix them or make them prettier. I notice I’m a little sad today, and that’s fine. I don’t need a reason. My playlist keeps shuffling to songs that are a little too on the nose, and I roll my eyes because the algorithm knows me too well.
A memory floats up—last week at the bar, someone called me “brave” for wearing nail polish. I smiled and nodded, but honestly, I just thought the color looked cute. I think about how queerness gets wrapped up in other people’s ideas of courage, when sometimes it’s just about wanting to feel like myself, quietly, without applause.
Right now, I’m just here. Hoodie, coffee, window, me. No big declarations, no performance. Just a small, soft moment where I let myself be. It’s enough.