It is too
easy to be rough. It is easy to be harsh, cruel,
blunt, funny in a way that makes someone feel bad. It's
easy to make yourself unapproachable, to glare at strangers
who keep eye contact with you too long or raise your eyebrow
at a nervous joke told too hastily. You can be melancholy.
You can be hurt, nursing past wounds, unraveling stitches to
keep cuts bleeding and fresh — that isn't hard,
it' isn't hard at all.
But I am tired of looking myself and seeing jagged edges. I
am tired of wearing away at myself, keeping
myself rough because an older me,
a past me, a me filled with naiveté and bitterness,
thought it was what I wanted. Because I've done it, and
I've lived it, and I've grown with it, and I have
learned that there is nothing congratulatory or aspirational
about this.
There's a difference between self-respect and
mean-spiritedness... scaring people away is nothing to be
proud of. It is too easy to be rough,
but kindness is easier to respect than a bitter
smirk.
