Words are like water. They flow from the mouth as if it were a waterfall.

They cause rain in the form of teardrops to roll down the mountains

that are your cheeks. They cloud your vision like a bad storm

and they break away pieces of your heart with erosion.


Of course there are ways to keep yourself dry, but none of them are

permanent and some don't even help. So I tend to stay inside my

body of a home and in the living room where my brain is located.

I tend to lock the doors and watch the waterfall from the inside.


And after a while I realize that there is a torrential downpour

inside of my home. Water is coming from the living room and from down

the hall and from outside. I realize that I'm terrible at keeping dry, s

o I might as well try to float. But I know that I can only butterfly stroke for

so long before I finally give up on the thought of actually becoming a butterfly.


So then I begin to panic, like a faucet the sputters, which only makes things

worse, but I keep trying to stay above the water because God knows that's

what life’s about. Trying to stay afloat in the world that is made up of only water.


And finally I get tired and the words that come to kiss the shore of my broken

heart begin to roll in large waves that crash over my dwindling hope

until it drags all of it away again. All I can do is watch as it disappears and

wish that when the water calms down, when it comes to hug the shore with

a light embrace that it will slip the hope right back into the cracks.


Because I'd rather be breathing than drowning and if that means always

staying a little damp, then I will throw away all of my towels and swim right

into the middle of the ocean. Without being afraid of the inevitable waves of

uncertainty and future words because it would be impossible to suffocate

with broken lungs.


This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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