The Shape Beneath the Storm
by Bellie-boo
The ocean taught me language before I could speak—
it whispered through the dark-blue folds of sleep,
where sailors dreamed of home and I dreamed of being seen.
I was marble once, cold and unyielding,
but even stone softens under centuries of rain.
Each drop a memory—each memory, a name.
I have worn a hundred faces:
the quiet child, the wounded prophet,
the girl who built temples from apology.
There are nights I still feel the stars breathing,
their gold threads weaving through my ribs
like ancient stories refusing to fade.
I want to be the hand that touches light and does not burn,
the breath that trembles before the quaver becomes a song.
To be the river, and the leaf, and the bend between them—
where surrender meets motion,
where healing becomes the art of staying soft.
And if the sea still calls me monster,
I’ll answer with a smile—
for I have learned the shape of mercy
beneath the wave.
_____________________________________
I like those "Behind the Scenes" clips, so here is my version of that....Original Draft!
What feelings and vibes should this be?
(1)
Okay, now, Bellie....I wanna write the best poem,
Concepts of philosophy or the drama I had this year!
I want it to flow in my mind;
The navy-blue ripples of the ocean sway the ****** to sleep.
I want it to blow my mind, leave it sore,
like the ***** whose throat was coated in *****
I want to feel safe in the poem,
like a leaf resting on the river
as it gently takes a bend.
(2)
Nah, this isn’t it. I want something that has imagery.
Something rare that excites me.
Like hearing the marble melting into bones.
Or a statue that wears a gown of stars and the dust of the universe,
its translucent cloak wraps its body like the hands that hold my thigh at night,
wrapping each finger around me tight.
Tighter. Tighter still.
Like the gold of the stars that gleam,
the shine bright through the fabric,
like a gold-woven tapestry.
Like the sweetness of the candy that you steal —
like showing off a really cool skill that you can do better than anyone else,
so you know that one kid’s jealous smile
will steal your heart and leave you feeling wild.
Draft 2:
I float beneath the navy-blue swell,
the ocean cradling me like I’ve always belonged,
its ripples lulling ****** to sleep while I burn awake.
My mind drifts, a vessel of unspoken things:
the betrayals I swallowed,
the lusts that scorched my bones,
the quiet wars with my own reflection.
I remember the year that clawed at me,
dragged me under,
showed me the taste of my own edges —
like a throat coated in fire and shame,
and yet, I did not break.
The waves whisper: you are more than the scream, more than the scar,
and I let them wrap me,
soft as a leaf drifting down a river
bending without breaking.
I touch the water and feel the pulse of stars,
the weight of time pressing against my ribs,
and I laugh — a sound that tastes like rain,
because I am both storm and calm, predator and lamb,
and I hold them equally in my chest.
Some nights, I rise like a tide,
stretching long into the world,
hands open, eyes wide,
hungry for everything I am, everything I was told I could not be.
I let the sea carry me,
let it show me the scars beneath my skin,
the velvet darkness where my truth blooms,
and in that swelling quiet, I find myself again.
Safe, yes,
like a leaf on the river bending,
and yet, infinite —
like the navy-blue ripples that pull all of me into their sway.
Oct 29, 2025
Oct 29, 2025 at 11:46 PM UTC
The Shape Beneath the Storm
by Bellie-boo
The ocean taught me language before I could speak—
it whispered through the dark-blue folds of sleep,
where sailors dreamed of home and I dreamed of being seen.
I was marble once, cold and unyielding,
but even stone softens under centuries of rain.
Each drop a memory—each memory, a name.
I have worn a hundred faces:
the quiet child, the wounded prophet,
the girl who built temples from apology.
There are nights I still feel the stars breathing,
their gold threads weaving through my ribs
like ancient stories refusing to fade.
I want to be the hand that touches light and does not burn,
the breath that trembles before the quaver becomes a song.
To be the river, and the leaf, and the bend between them—
where surrender meets motion,
where healing becomes the art of staying soft.
And if the sea still calls me monster,
I’ll answer with a smile—
for I have learned the shape of mercy
beneath the wave.
_____________________________________
I like those "Behind the Scenes" clips, so here is my version of that....Original Draft!
What feelings and vibes should this be?
(1)
Okay, now, Bellie....I wanna write the best poem,
Concepts of philosophy or the drama I had this year!
I want it to flow in my mind;
The navy-blue ripples of the ocean sway the ****** to sleep.
I want it to blow my mind, leave it sore,
like the ***** whose throat was coated in *****
I want to feel safe in the poem,
like a leaf resting on the river
as it gently takes a bend.
(2)
Nah, this isn’t it. I want something that has imagery.
Something rare that excites me.
Like hearing the marble melting into bones.
Or a statue that wears a gown of stars and the dust of the universe,
its translucent cloak wraps its body like the hands that hold my thigh at night,
wrapping each finger around me tight.
Tighter. Tighter still.
Like the gold of the stars that gleam,
the shine bright through the fabric,
like a gold-woven tapestry.
Like the sweetness of the candy that you steal —
like showing off a really cool skill that you can do better than anyone else,
so you know that one kid’s jealous smile
will steal your heart and leave you feeling wild.
Draft 2:
I float beneath the navy-blue swell,
the ocean cradling me like I’ve always belonged,
its ripples lulling ****** to sleep while I burn awake.
My mind drifts, a vessel of unspoken things:
the betrayals I swallowed,
the lusts that scorched my bones,
the quiet wars with my own reflection.
I remember the year that clawed at me,
dragged me under,
showed me the taste of my own edges —
like a throat coated in fire and shame,
and yet, I did not break.
The waves whisper: you are more than the scream, more than the scar,
and I let them wrap me,
soft as a leaf drifting down a river
bending without breaking.
I touch the water and feel the pulse of stars,
the weight of time pressing against my ribs,
and I laugh — a sound that tastes like rain,
because I am both storm and calm, predator and lamb,
and I hold them equally in my chest.
Some nights, I rise like a tide,
stretching long into the world,
hands open, eyes wide,
hungry for everything I am, everything I was told I could not be.
I let the sea carry me,
let it show me the scars beneath my skin,
the velvet darkness where my truth blooms,
and in that swelling quiet, I find myself again.
Safe, yes,
like a leaf on the river bending,
and yet, infinite —
like the navy-blue ripples that pull all of me into their sway.
This poem is for anyone who has felt like their inner ocean was too vast, too dark, or too wild. May it remind you that even the deepest waves can cradle you, and even in the heaviest tide, there is a way to float.
