sixteen

Lips on lips, never felt more sure,

that I'd give myself up and make me your own.

The sunlight could not compare

to the glistening specks of hazel;

wind to breath to air to air to air to air.

Taking you all in as I am unstable.

seventeen

A bud, still though, however bruised.

Memories stolen,

heart broken,

blood leaking, 

tears flowing.

 

Lips parted, unable to speak.

Gasping for air because life has been taken from me.

eighteen

Waterfalls less frequent, but flooding still occurs.

A small dam, however, strong and able.

She cracks the dam as she is unsure

whether or not to return to the hurt.

 

I built this dam, I closed up the flood — for the first time though,

but I've always been drowning.

nineteen

Flowers blooming in which the seeds I planted,

I thank the flood for providing water.

I no longer am a bud bruised,

but rather a grown tree — mature, filled with life and unable to be taken down.

 

I thank the floods for providing water,

but I thank you even more for coming in and watering my roots.