Changing Faces of Water


I'm looking at the waves, entranced by their strength. They throw me under and thrust me aside, as if my presence isn't a bother at all. Yet when I look into the compressed sands, I see my reflection magnified. These tiny rocks cannot possibly hold me, for my hair and my cheeks and my hands hold them. How can I be so powerless in one arena, but potent in another? How can all the strength I feel I have falter--how can I let it? I sense a power, something more, some outrage bursting inside screaming "Be patient. It will come." Be patient. Sit still. It will come. But it cannot. If I don't get up, if I don't pass every waking minute reaching for this goal, I cannot achieve it. If I do not put my effort into every second....that's all right. I can relax. I can take a breath. I can allow the sun to scorch me so the ocean can fight the pain. And in that moment that the two powers meet, I will watch the steam rise in bubbles above me, staring at the blue water blending together with the blue sky, but I will not feel like I am drowning anymore. Either I have grown scales about my body or I have finally realized that no matter where I am, I can adapt and change my mentality to suit the situation, to fight the battle, to assume the shape of my container, but have the power of millions of little droplets to burst the walls should they become a hindrance, a barrier to this something more. And these droplets will freeze, and fall from the sky, piling up slowly, melting away at first, but slowly creating a fortress capable of separating me from the world. I lay on these feathers and watch the rest of me fall to the ground, each finding a place in the puzzle of snowfall. 

Poetry Slam: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741