Soft Landing

You come to me with winter hands

and eyes that say “just hold me still”

You wear a man like borrowed clothes

but underneath, a boy who spills

You learned my rhythm, learned my calm

the way I breathe could slow your storm

but I’m not medicine, I’m not dawn

I’m not the place where you get warm

I’m not your soft landing I’m not your quiet place

You can’t keep outsourcing the war inside your face

I loved you like a woman loves

but you showed up like rain — just passing through

and taking what you couldn’t name

You’d lay your head against my chest

and let my heartbeat do the work

as if my steady was your cure

as if my gentle was your church

But tenderness is not a tap you turn

when everything runs dry

and I refuse to be the well

that no one ever asks “are you alright?”

I’m not your soft landing

I’m not your quiet place

You can’t keep outsourcing the war inside your face

I loved you like a woman loves

but you showed up like rain — just passing through

and taking what you couldn’t name

Go sit with what you’re running from

go break where no one sees

learn how to hold yourself the way you always needed me

‘cause the boy in you deserves to grow

but not at someone’s cost

and the man you say you want to be

won’t be built from what I lost

I’m not your soft landing

I’m not your quiet place

but maybe when you’ve found your own

you’ll meet me face to face

not reaching, not half-empty not borrowing my name

— just standing in your own damn light

and knowing where it came from

Don’t look for me.

Look for yourself. That’s where it starts.