There is something about lace for textures that don't fight me and sit lightly on my skin like it already knows me I present myself as gentler like it expects softness even when I don't feel it I didn't always feel like this before femininity felt weak felt too graceful too unlike me but for you my body was something seen as gentle and light rather than heavy and pushy I find myself reaching for softness and hesitate bracing for it a reminder of who I used to be of the softness I carried as a child still in my core like I have to grow into it or shrink to fit it I'm not sure which because softness feels exposed like being seen without deciding how first is it delicate not fragile? it's like it can exist without breaking I find that the child within me climbing out through a safety that was never steady uncertain a push and pull of vulnerability yet you look at me like the softness I'm building already exists and it isn't something I have to earn like it's already mine and that's where I falter because I'm still learning how to believe that my hands still hover between closing and opening between resisting and reaching but slowly something shifts thread by thread I stop pulling away as quickly and for a moment I let the softness linger for a second longer and maybe that's what this is not becoming something new but unlearning the need to hold myself so tightly and restrictively until lace doesn't feel like something I wear but something I've always been a pair of lace hands