I am body of water.
Not an ocean.
Not a river.
Not some beautiful blue horizon
where the sun comes to rest.
No.
I am a lake.
A lake made entirely
of everything I swallowed.
Every scream I buried.
Every goodbye I never said.
Every “I’m fine”
that was really
“Please, somebody fucking notice.”
I am a lake
of salty tears
and desperate prayers.
And God,
I am so fucking full.
Full of anger.
Full of sadness.
Full of words
that never found a mouth brave enough
to release them.
So I cry.
And cry.
And cry.
Until my pillow becomes an island
and my blankets become shorelines
and I wake up drowning
in something that came from my own eyes.
They tell me,
“Just reach out.”
But reaching out
feels like standing at the edge of a cliff
and trusting somebody
not to let you fall.
So my hand rises...
Then stops.
My fingers tremble.
And I pull it back.
Because what if I call
and nobody answers?
What if I say,
“I need you,”
and the silence says,
“You shouldn\'t have.”
What if I finally open the floodgates
and somebody looks at all this water
and decides
I\'m too much to swim through?
So I stay here.
Still.
Quiet.
A lake pretending
it isn\'t drowning itself.
But underneath this surface
there is a storm.
There are waves
slamming against the walls of my chest.
There is thunder
made from every injustice
I was too afraid to scream about.
There is lightning
in every tear
that falls from my face.
And sometimes...
I want someone
to walk to the edge of me.
Not with a bucket.
Not with a fucking lecture.
Not telling me
how to dry myself out.
I want someone to sit beside the water
and say,
“You don\'t have to stop crying.”
“You don\'t have to apologize for being deep.”
“You don\'t have to drown alone.”
Because I am body of water.
I am rage with a shoreline.
I am grief with a pulse.
I am desperation
wearing the disguise of silence.
I am every tear
I was too scared to let anyone see.
And maybe one day
I\'ll stop being afraid
of reaching my hand beyond the shore.
Maybe one day
I\'ll let somebody touch the water
without fearing they\'ll run
when they realize
how deep it goes.
But tonight...
Tonight I am still a lake.
Still crying.
Still waiting.
Still hoping
someone notices the ripples
and understands:
I am not asking you to save me.
I\'m asking you to sit beside me
until I remember
how to swim.