I was a woman of water
A river for a body
to flow like a current.
I was meant only to sweep men off their feet.
But never do anything but slip through their hands.
Used only as something to mop up.
But I found a man made of fire.
That turned my voice into a voice.
It was no longer a trickle.
He took my rocky heartbeat.
And turned it into a heartbeat.
Then one day,
His flames turned into a fingertip.
One that caressed my jawline
And whispered to my riverside cheekbones
Telling me to become an ocean.
To drown.
Have a fierceness of a tidal wave.
To crash anyone who hurts me.
His hand touched me like a hand inside a wishing well
And I grew the size of the Atlantic.
I carried him with me, but his flames came back.
Turning me back into a river
A creek
A puddle
A girl.
I held hands with a campfire
Burnt my skin into submission
And evaporated.
Like I’m supposed to.