I AM BODY OF WATER

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.