Erica’s Poem – Armor

Armor.

Appropriate for battlefields.

But what if the battlefield is not a battlefield, but an office.

 

And since the enemy is your own, friendly fire is the risk.

 

Where bullets rain in the form of doubt.

Shame.

Judgment.

 

Where you are weakened by

The not good enoughs.

The whittling of aspirations.

The crazy-making.

 

And while that armor protects you, camouflages you, uniforms you –

That armor, is heavy.

 

Heavy not only on your skin,

But your mind,

Your heart,

Your muscles

And all that makes you – you.

 

Heavy in that you do not know its weight, until it’s off.

Heavy in that even though that armor is invisible, it is crushing.

 

Your true self atrophies, shielded from the elements.

To protect, preserve, deflect.

For what?

 

Until one day you realize that maybe that armor is doing more harm than good.

 

When a breeze whispers through the cracks,

A sunbeam finds its warmth to your skin,

An ally locks eyes with you – and gets it.

 

And you feel what it’s like to be you, to be open, to be weightless.

 

And suddenly you realize that all that you are protecting deserves no armor.

Because the joy in feeling your true self meet the world,

Has a protective power in and of itself.