Soft & Sovereign

Poems on Life, Love & Becoming

by Jamila Gomez

Dedication

For every Black woman

who’s ever been told

to be strong

when she just wanted to be soft.

For the ones learning to choose ease,

joy,

and themselves

every single day.

This is for you.

Author’s Note

I wrote this book because I was tired.

Tired of carrying everything.

Tired of shrinking myself to fit expectations.

Tired of pretending that being 'strong' didn’t come at a cost.

This collection is a love letter to softness —

to the process of unlearning survival mode

and choosing to live, really live, in the lightness of joy, ease, love, and freedom.

These poems were written in the quiet moments,

between heartbreak and healing,

between grind and rest,

between who I was

and who I’m still becoming.

If you see yourself in these pages,

know this:

you are allowed to choose yourself.

You are allowed to rest.

You are allowed to live soft

and still be powerful.

Outline

Section 1 – The Weight & The Wonder

- The First Soft Thing I Ever Touched

- On Being the Backbone and the Broken

- What My Mother Never Said Out Loud

- Kitchen Prayers

- The Sound of Black Girl Laughter

- Inherited Tiredness

- A Poem About My Skin That Isn’t About Survival

- The Girls Who Taught Me How to Live

- My Grandmother’s Hands

- The Weight & The Wonder

Section 2 – Loving, Losing, Loving Again

- You Can Call Me Tender

- Loving at the Edge of Myself

- A Lesson in Leaving

- How I Mistook Sacrifice for Love

- To The Girl I Used to Be

- Black Love Feels Like This

- The Art of Being Chosen

- A Lover’s Silence

- What I Thought I Needed

- I Learned to Love Me Last

Section 3 – Becoming My Own Home

- The First Time I Said No Without Explaining

- Things I Left Behind in Therapy

- Not Everyone Deserves the Softest Version of Me

- Black Girl Miracle

- I Am My Own Sanctuary

- The Luxury of Boundaries

- I Don’t Owe You Softness

- The Healing Didn’t Look Like I Thought It Would

- A Black Woman’s Becoming

- Becoming My Own Home

Section 4 – The Divine & The Daily

- My Ancestors Talk to Me in My Sleep

- God Sounds Like a Black Woman

- How to Pray Without Words

- Softness Is Holy Work

- Grief as a Portal

- The Universe Speaks in Whispers

- A Poem for Every Version of Me That Made It

- Burning Sage, Burning Shame

- I Am My Ancestors’ Wildest Dream

- The Divine & The Daily

Section 5 – The Soft Life Manifesto

- The Soft Life Manifesto

- What Peace Feels Like in My Body

- I Don’t Want to Hustle, I Want to Heal

- A Black Woman Deserves Luxury

- The Shape of My Joy

- Soft, Still & Free

- Ease is My Birthright

- No More Suffering for My Softness

- Rest is Resistance

- How Light Feels

SECTION 1 – The Weight & The Wonder

This section is about what it means to carry everything and still find beauty.

It’s about the weight of being a Black woman in this world — the expectations, the labor, the inherited exhaustion — and the quiet wonder that blooms anyway.

We’ve always made something out of nothing.

This is where that story begins.

The First Soft Thing I Ever Touched

before the world told me

to armor up,

before survival

had sharp edges —

there was the cotton of my grandmother’s slip

hanging on the line,

the fat fingers of okra in her garden,

the way her voice

softened when she called me baby.

there was softness

once.

i touched it

before it slipped away.

On Being the Backbone and the Broken

they never tell you

the one holding everything

is usually the one

crumbling quietly

when no one’s looking.

i learned early

how to smile through heaviness,

how to laugh with my teeth

even when my chest

was caving in.

they call you strong.

but strong

is just another word

for lonely.

What My Mother Never Said Out Loud

she never warned me

life would chew me up.

but her eyes told me.

her body told me.

the kitchen full of thankless work

told me.

i watched her

become what the world demanded

and promised myself

i never would.

Kitchen Prayers

the women in my family

pray over cutting boards,

between pots and pans,

whisper amen

into bubbling pots.

they don’t ask for much —

just enough.

protection.

for their babies

to come home safe.

the smell of garlic,

the scrape of a knife —

this is how we pray.

The Sound of Black Girl Laughter

it’s the sound

of freedom

on borrowed time.

a sound

that cracks open the air,

makes room

where there wasn’t any.

black girl laughter

is not small.

it’s survival,

set to music.

Inherited Tiredness

my mother was tired.

my grandmother too.

not the kind of tired

sleep fixes,

but the kind

stitched into your bones.

i was born

already carrying it.

now,

i’m learning

how to set it down.

A Poem About My Skin That Isn’t About Survival

my skin

is not a battlefield.

not a cautionary tale.

not a hashtag.

today,

it’s just skin —

warm, soft,

bathed in light.

that is enough.

The Girls Who Taught Me How to Live

they taught me

how to laugh

with my whole body,

how to dance

like no one’s looking —

and if they are,

who cares?

they taught me

how to hold sorrow

and joy

at the same time.

magic

in friendship.

in freedom.

My Grandmother’s Hands

her hands

were maps —

wrinkled, worn,

marked by years

of holding too much.

they stirred pots,

braided hair,

wiped tears,

folded prayers

into every meal.

when i look at my own hands,

i see her.

The Weight & The Wonder

being a black woman

means carrying

what no one else will

and still laughing

like it’s light.

it’s knowing

you’ll be asked

to hold everything

and still choose joy.

it’s heavy.

it’s holy.

it’s wonder.

SECTION 2 – Loving, Losing, Loving Again

Love has shaped me and undone me,

taught me how to hold on and how to let go.

This section is about the lessons love teaches — about others, yes, but mostly about myself.

How I learned to stop mistaking sacrifice for love,

and how I finally learned

to love me.

You Can Call Me Tender

i’ve been hard

for too long.

calloused where i should’ve been cradled.

i want to love

like soft rain,

like hands that don’t ask me to shrink.

you can call me tender now —

because i finally know

that being gentle

doesn’t mean being weak.

Loving at the Edge of Myself

i used to give

until there was nothing left.

until i was skin and apologies,

until my love felt like drowning

in someone else’s ocean.

i didn’t know

love wasn’t supposed to cost me

myself.

A Lesson in Leaving

leaving doesn’t always look like slamming doors.

sometimes it’s quiet,

a decision made in the middle of the night

when you finally realize

you deserve more.

i thought i had to break something

to be free.

but sometimes,

you just have to walk away

without turning back.

How I Mistook Sacrifice for Love

i used to think

that shrinking meant loving.

that saying yes

when i wanted to scream no

was what made me worthy.

but sacrifice isn’t love

when you’re the only one bleeding.

To The Girl I Used to Be

baby girl,

i wish you knew

you didn’t have to work

for love.

that your softness

was already enough.

that you never had to fold yourself small

to fit inside someone else's hunger.

i want to hold you now,

tell you

love is not supposed to hurt.

Black Love Feels Like This

it feels like

coming home

after the longest day.

like someone seeing you

without asking you

to shrink.

it feels like

laughter that fills a room

and silence that doesn’t feel empty.

black love

feels like safety.

like softness.

like being free

and still being held.

The Art of Being Chosen

they taught me

how to chase,

how to earn,

how to beg for love

that never stayed.

nobody taught me

how to stand still

and let myself

be chosen.

now i know —

being loved

without performing

is an art.

and i am

the masterpiece.

A Lover’s Silence

some people leave

without leaving.

their silence

becomes a wall,

a void,

a slow kind of goodbye

you almost don’t notice

until it’s too quiet.

and when they finally go,

you realize —

they’d been gone

long before the door closed.

What I Thought I Needed

i thought i needed

someone to save me,

to love me loud enough

to drown out

the parts of me

i couldn’t hold.

turns out,

i just needed

to choose myself

when no one else did.

I Learned to Love Me Last

i spent years

trying to love

everyone else right.

gave them

my softness,

my patience,

my light.

i left myself

for last.

but when i finally

turned inward,

i found

the kind of love

i’d been searching for

all along.

SECTION 3 – Becoming My Own Home

This is the season of unlearning.

The part where I stop searching outside myself

for belonging, for peace, for worth.

Here is where I learned to become

the place I could rest.

The First Time I Said No Without Explaining

it felt like rebellion.

my throat tight,

my stomach turning —

but my mouth steady.

no.

no reason.

no apology.

no softening the edges

so you’d still like me.

just

no.

and it felt

like freedom.

Things I Left Behind in Therapy

other people’s expectations.

the story that said

i wasn’t enough.

my habit of saying sorry

when i wasn’t the one who hurt me.

the weight of my mother’s survival

on my shoulders.

the belief

that healing had to look like perfection.

i left all of it

on that couch

and walked out

lighter.

Not Everyone Deserves the Softest Version of Me

i spent years

giving the best of me

to people who mistook it

for weakness.

now, i keep my softness

for those who water it back.

i learned

that love isn’t about

how much i can give

until i’m empty.

it’s about

who makes room

for me to be whole.

Black Girl Miracle

they called me strong

like it was the only thing

i was allowed to be.

but here i am —

soft, whole,

free.

a miracle

they never saw coming.

I Am My Own Sanctuary

there is a quiet place

inside me

where no one else lives.

i built it

from the rubble

of every time i broke.

here,

i am safe.

i am soft.

i am sovereign.

The Luxury of Boundaries

they don’t tell you

how luxurious it feels

to say no.

to choose yourself

without guilt.

to stop bleeding

for people

who never learned

how to love you soft.

my boundaries

are velvet ropes.

not walls —

but invitations

to treat me right.

I Don’t Owe You Softness

i spent years

giving the best of me

to people who mistook it

for weakness.

now, i keep my softness

for those who water it back.

i learned

that love isn’t about

how much i can give

until i’m empty.

it’s about

who makes room

for me to be whole.

The Healing Didn’t Look Like I Thought It Would

i thought healing

would be pretty.

clean.

a straight line.

instead,

it was messy.

ugly crying at midnight.

apologies

i didn’t know i owed myself.

but it was real.

and every scar

is proof

i made it.

A Black Woman’s Becoming

it isn’t linear.

some days,

i feel whole.

some days,

i’m still gathering

the broken pieces.

but every day,

i become more

of myself.

a soft,

loud,

free

Black woman.

Becoming My Own Home

i spent years

searching for home

in other people,

in places,

in anything outside myself.

but home

was never there.

home

was always

this body,

this breath,

this heart still beating

after everything.

i became

the place i could rest.

SECTION 4 – The Divine & The Daily

Holiness doesn’t live in temples alone.

It lives in the laughter of Black women,

in the hum of daily life,

in the whispers of the ancestors when the room goes quiet.

This section is a reminder

that the sacred has always lived in us.

My Ancestors Talk to Me in My Sleep

they don’t show up

how you’d expect.

no thunderclap,

no burning bush.

just dreams

where my grandmother hums

a song i’ve never heard

but somehow know.

just whispers

when i’m washing dishes,

telling me:

you’re doing better than you think.

God Sounds Like a Black Woman

when i stopped listening

for a voice in the clouds

and started listening

to the women who raised me,

i realized:

god sounds like a Black woman.

soft and sharp.

sings when she’s sad.

laughs from her belly.

tells you the truth

whether you want it or not.

How to Pray Without Words

sometimes

prayer is a breath

you didn’t realize

you’d been holding.

sometimes

it’s the way your body

finally unclenches

after a long day.

sometimes

it’s standing still

long enough

to feel the sunlight

on your skin.

Softness Is Holy Work

they taught me

divinity lived in suffering.

but i found god

in the way i exhaled

after a long cry.

in silk pillowcases

and slow mornings.

in laughing without looking over my shoulder.

this softness —

this ease —

isn’t weakness.

it’s survival.

it’s sacred.

Grief as a Portal

grief cracked me open.

not to destroy me —

but to show me

what was underneath

the armor.

it wasn’t just sadness.

it was love.

it was memory.

it was everything

i thought i lost

still living

inside me.

The Universe Speaks in Whispers

it’s never loud.

not the way i thought

it would be.

the universe

doesn’t shout.

it nudges.

a song at the right moment.

a stranger’s smile.

a quiet knowing

that blooms

when you finally get still.

you just have to listen.

A Poem for Every Version of Me That Made It

for the girl

who thought she had to earn love.

for the woman

who stayed too long.

for the version of me

who almost gave up.

every past self

deserves a poem.

a thank you.

a soft place to land.

because they all

carried me here.

Burning Sage, Burning Shame

it’s not just smoke.

it’s a ritual.

a cleansing.

a letting go

of every voice

that told me

i wasn’t enough.

i burn sage

like an offering.

like an act of defiance.

i let the smoke

carry my shame away.

I Am My Ancestors’ Wildest Dream

they couldn’t dream

of soft mornings

and freedom

and ease.

but here i am —

breathing,

laughing,

living without permission.

every joy

is a prayer

answered

long before i was born.

The Divine & The Daily

divinity isn’t just

in temples

or sermons.

it’s in the way

my grandmother laughed.

in the sun

warming my skin.

in the breath

i take

before i speak my truth.

holiness

is woven

into the daily.

SECTION 5 – The Soft Life Manifesto

This is where I lay it down —

the weight, the grind, the survival.

This is the declaration:

I choose joy.

I choose ease.

I choose softness, not because the world made it easy,

but because I finally decided

I don’t have to carry everything anymore.

The Soft Life Manifesto

i refuse

to bleed for love.

to hustle for worth.

to carry what isn’t mine.

my softness

is not up for debate.

my peace

is not a prize you earn.

i choose joy

on purpose.

i choose ease

without apology.

this is my manifesto:

i will live light,

love loud,

rest often.

What Peace Feels Like in My Body

it feels like

slow mornings

and nobody needing me.

it feels like

a deep exhale

that starts in my belly.

it feels like

a room

where i don’t have to shrink.

it feels like

soft music,

warm tea,

the sound of my own laughter.

I Don’t Want to Hustle, I Want to Heal

they told me

success meant grinding

until there was nothing left.

but i want mornings

without urgency,

days without pressure,

a life that doesn’t

cost me myself.

i don’t want to hustle.

i want to heal.

A Black Woman Deserves Luxury

luxury isn’t just diamonds

or plane tickets.

luxury is

peace and quiet,

boundaries honored,

a soft bed,

no one asking for too much.

luxury is

being able to rest

without the world

falling apart.

and yes —

sometimes,

it’s diamonds too.

The Shape of My Joy

my joy

isn’t loud

unless it wants to be.

sometimes,

it’s the shape of a slow morning.

a clean kitchen.

a belly laugh

with no audience.

it looks like me

dancing in my living room

for no one but myself.

it looks like freedom.

Soft, Still & Free

i don’t want

a life

that runs me ragged.

i want

soft mornings,

still afternoons,

free evenings.

i want to breathe

without holding my chest tight.

to exist

without earning it.

soft.

still.

free.

that’s the dream.

Ease is My Birthright

they told me

i had to hustle,

struggle,

prove myself

every second.

but ease

belongs to me too.

peace

belongs to me too.

i was born

worthy

of softness.

No More Suffering for My Softness

i used to believe

i had to earn rest.

had to break myself

just to deserve

a moment of peace.

not anymore.

i don’t need

to bleed

to be worthy

of softness.

Rest is Resistance

they want you tired.

want you grinding,

breaking,

empty.

but every time

i choose rest,

i am choosing

myself.

rest

is resistance.

it is rebellion.

it is survival.

How Light Feels

it feels like

shedding coats

you forgot you were wearing.

like laughter

that lives in your chest

long after the moment passes.

like finally

putting down

what was never yours to carry.

light feels

like me,

unburdened.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Author’s Note

Outline

Section 1 – The Weight & The Wonder

Section 2 – Loving, Losing, Loving Again

Section 3 – Becoming My Own Home

Section 4 – The Divine & The Daily

Section 5 – The Soft Life Manifesto

SECTION 1 – The Weight & The Wonder

(Untitled)

The First Soft Thing I Ever Touched

(Untitled)

On Being the Backbone and the Broken

(Untitled)

What My Mother Never Said Out Loud

(Untitled)

Kitchen Prayers

(Untitled)

The Sound of Black Girl Laughter

(Untitled)

Inherited Tiredness

(Untitled)

A Poem About My Skin That Isn’t About Survival

(Untitled)

The Girls Who Taught Me How to Live

(Untitled)

My Grandmother’s Hands

(Untitled)

The Weight & The Wonder

(Untitled)

SECTION 2 – Loving, Losing, Loving Again

(Untitled)

You Can Call Me Tender

(Untitled)

Loving at the Edge of Myself

(Untitled)

A Lesson in Leaving

(Untitled)

How I Mistook Sacrifice for Love

(Untitled)

To The Girl I Used to Be

(Untitled)

Black Love Feels Like This

(Untitled)

The Art of Being Chosen

(Untitled)

A Lover’s Silence

(Untitled)

What I Thought I Needed

(Untitled)

I Learned to Love Me Last

(Untitled)

SECTION 3 – Becoming My Own Home

(Untitled)

The First Time I Said No Without Explaining

(Untitled)

Things I Left Behind in Therapy

(Untitled)

Not Everyone Deserves the Softest Version of Me

(Untitled)

Black Girl Miracle

(Untitled)

I Am My Own Sanctuary

(Untitled)

The Luxury of Boundaries

(Untitled)

I Don’t Owe You Softness

(Untitled)

The Healing Didn’t Look Like I Thought It Would

(Untitled)

A Black Woman’s Becoming

(Untitled)

Becoming My Own Home

(Untitled)

SECTION 4 – The Divine & The Daily

(Untitled)

My Ancestors Talk to Me in My Sleep

(Untitled)

God Sounds Like a Black Woman

(Untitled)

How to Pray Without Words

(Untitled)

Softness Is Holy Work

(Untitled)

Grief as a Portal

(Untitled)

The Universe Speaks in Whispers

(Untitled)

A Poem for Every Version of Me That Made It

(Untitled)

Burning Sage, Burning Shame

(Untitled)

I Am My Ancestors’ Wildest Dream

(Untitled)

The Divine & The Daily

(Untitled)

SECTION 5 – The Soft Life Manifesto

(Untitled)

The Soft Life Manifesto

(Untitled)

What Peace Feels Like in My Body

(Untitled)

I Don’t Want to Hustle, I Want to Heal

(Untitled)

A Black Woman Deserves Luxury

(Untitled)

The Shape of My Joy

(Untitled)

Soft, Still & Free

(Untitled)

Ease is My Birthright

(Untitled)

No More Suffering for My Softness

(Untitled)

Rest is Resistance

(Untitled)

How Light Feels