They love to judge you.
The world demands a callous skin,
A fortress built of stone and pride,
And mocks the softness held within,
The tender light I keep inside.
They do not see the sudden storm,
The fractured map behind your eyes,
Where silence takes a heavy form
And quite aches begin to rise.
A slip of mind, a fragile thread,
The echo of a phantom blow—
They judge the spinning in your head,
The pace at which I need to go.
They call the feeling "weak" or "slow,"
Forgetting all the strength it takes
To let the deepest currents flow
Across the glass that never breaks,
But only bears the spider-lines
Of battles fought in muted air.
To judge a soul because it shines
Through hollows built of blunt despair—
It is a cruelty, cold and blind,
To measure worth by stoic walls,
And leave the gentleness behind
Whenever darkened shadow falls.
For wisdom grows in quiet rooms,
And empathy is hard-won grace;
It is not weakness that consumes,
But light reflecting on your face.
So let them watch with narrow sight,
And measure what they cannot see;
I am the morning, soft and bright,
And they are not the judge of you.
-
Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: May 5th, 2026 05:14
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments2
That’s what mom used to say to us that we can’t appear to be soft on the outside 🕊️🙏🏻
There is a feeling of being judged by others and not understood so misjudged. It is ironic that in reading this there is a judgement made as well that may not be what was intended and therefore misjudged. Nicely written
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