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.
A bud, still though, however bruised.
Lips parted, unable to speak.
Gasping for air because life has been taken from me.
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.
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.