I was born water,
shaped by shifting currents,
aching beneath skin too thin,
eyes wide open to worlds always leaving.

Father, you were a storm trapped in bones,
hands heavy with silence,
every word unspoken a bruise,
my smiles stitched from glittering lies
to make you believe I was gold.

Mother, your heart swung like a pendulum
between rage and tenderness,
promising warmth while you taught me winter,
running away as if love was wind,
never landing softly where I stood.

Trust became a broken map,
paths always folding back on themselves,
everyone changing their story
without telling me why,
judging my scars from safe distances.

Now loneliness wraps around me
like old clothes, comfortable yet threadbare,
dreaming still of belonging
to something gentle,
something true.

Tonight I carry pebbles in my pockets,
each stone a silent apology
or a love I never knew,
walking slowly toward water,
ready to become river again.