xx.
How can I tell you
how the sands carve away my
softness every night,
chiseling me down
to my core,
the me before
four years of sea salt
built up on my skin.
How can I tell you
that God’s refinement
makes me better,
happier,
when all you see are
hard edges and
lines where once were
waves?
How can I tell you
that my roots are gently being
blown away and,
tenderly,
transplanted
into waterless soil,
how I yearn for that
stability?
And how can I tell you
that I like myself better
with you chipped away?
Gender:
Points: 6141
Reviews: 499