My words are like pebbles at the bottom of a creek,
they drift along beneath a gentle current and brush against your feet.

Sometimes you feel their jagged edges and wince.
Sometimes you find them smooth and pleasantly small.
Sometimes you pick them up to keep them for a little while.
Most times you just don't notice them at all.

My words are like trees standing in a lush, lost forest.
Naturally, organic beings come and make their nests.

Some people walk right by without a care to their presence.
Some people say they're dark, yet full of life you can't see.
Some people find themselves at their bottom and climb towards the light.
And then those people praise the way you can see the sun gleam.  

My words are like the very tears that come from my own eyes,
rain made from the turn of the weather that's only inside.

They come when I realise how much I love him, how deep it goes.
They come from anxiety I let build and I let leave me afraid.
They come when I try to fight the loneliness I'm plagued with at night.
And they come when he finally holds my hand and I conquer the pain.

My words are cinder blocks that keep me grounded when I feel I may float away.
These words bring color back to my existence when I feel myself begin to fade.