And sadness can change you.

It’s changing me

in the same way that the ocean changes the shore and

the way that the kiss of rain

changes the life of a dying crop and

the way that the river erodes the bank.

And sadness can change you.

You say you don’t want me to change

but you don’t know the depths of my heart

nor the shallows of my mind.

You say you don’t want me to change

but I am happy to grow

like a flower that has its first taste of spring.

And sadness can change you.

It’s changing me,

making me want to be free.

“But you are not Lana Del Rey,”

you say as I tell you about my

liberation movement.

“You are not like them;

you are my best friend.”

And sadness can change you.

You say you don’t want me to change

but it is beginning to feel like

you don’t want me to grow-

you want me to be the little girl that

you’ve made me into, but

I am not her,

I am not a fragile snowflake;

I am not a porcelain doll;

I am no longer the wilting flower that

you met last fall.

And sadness can change you.

It’s changing me

in the same way that

the ocean changes the shore and

the way that the kiss of rain

changes the life of a dying crop and

the way that the river erodes the bank.