more on tadpole lungs but this time

it feels a little more like tide pools

words left unsaid, swirling and pulling, catching my breath, sweeping me off my feet

I’ve always been a bit of a coward. Can’t get too close to the tide pools, can’t let those words overflow, can’t let them overwhelm. Bottle them up and send them back into the ocean, so much that the waves becomes restless again. Rush back to rocky shore. Tide pools.

Powerful words, longing words, even just singing words. Left unsaid and unsung.

As tadpoles fill lungs, give lumps in throat, I stumble on tide pools. Trip on the jagged rocks, stumble over my own bare feet, feel myself slip. Raw feet.

How raw these words are. How sweet and sad. How words wash over the old, to try to forget.

And yet they continue to pool.

Everything I’ve written until now has been messy free writes and I really have no regrets.

I’ve spent the past weeks unable to sleep until 1 AM every night. My body clock’s been out of whack and even if I spend the whole day trying to burn off any bit of energy, it ends up the same. So here I am again, writing (recklessly, but not entirely poorly I can acknowledge).

If you listen closer, you can hear the waves sigh.

If only.


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