The Water Cycle
Don’t Question Me | Simone Kulinski | Painting
The Water Cycle by Johanna Lane
Sunday night
I am wasting water, as always. Wasting water on words…
Stupid
Ugly
Coward
Quitter
Loser
Spacey
Words I have called myself
Drowned in throughout the day.
Stupid! You knew the answer to question two, you just did the math wrong.
Ugly. Your hair is a tree branch and your skin is sandpaper.
Coward. You are lost in the crowd because you will never work up the courage to ask for directions.
Quitter. One failure becomes a permanent stoplight.
Loser. Always last to cross the finish line.
Spacey. Focus. Who are you not to pay attention, you’re certainly not more important than whoever is talking.
Words I have called myself, drowned in throughout the day
But when I come home, gasp for air, I need
more water
Turn on the shower
Hot.
Wash my hair, my body
With water, and then
I stay in a minute longer, or two, for each word
Wasting water on words
Words that sting, cling to me, but I force them down the drain.
My tears run parallel to the wasted water down my cheeks, one and the same
Wasted
Water, tears, heat
All on the words.
Turn off the stream, step out, dry off
Lie in bed
Wake up tomorrow, then Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, drown in the insults I splash myself with
Until I come back to waste more, to wash it off:
A cycle
The water cycle
I do not want to be trapped in it
But I am, there is no other option, no other way, no plan, no change, no solution unless
My mother, the sun
She warms me
She heals, she touches, she knows
To go outside and visit her,
To see, That vitamin D,
That thing I am lacking, well. It doesn’t really fit my schedule.
But I need an escape
How do I rid myself of the insults that drown me in any other way than just washing it all down the drain, the hot water burning off another layer of my
dignity each and every day?
I could step outside
Let her dry me off
Take deep breaths
After the initial gasp of air
But it is inconvenient
To let go, to change, to leave
To break
The water cycle.
But it all becomes clear when, despite it all
My mother, the sun
Calls me, because I am her child
Her rays stroke my arms from afar
And her bright white light crinkles my nose, playfully
So I step outside
Gasp for air
Stand there
Dry, Warm, New
I broke it
The water cycle
New words come to mind today, Friday
Not stupid, intelligent
Not ugly, beautiful
Not a coward, brave
Not a quitter, resilient
Not a loser, a winner
Not spacey, thoughtful
Full, deep breaths
Swimming in the shallows
Treading water
Staying afloat
No Longer Drowning.
Intelligent. I learn from my mistakes. I am a straight A student.
Beautiful. My imperfections and uniqueness catch the eye.
Brave. It took a lot to get here.
Resilient. I keep trying after each step backward.
Winner. The last to cross the finish line, and the first to do it right.
Thoughtful. I find the meaning behind the world of questions that surrounds me.
Friday is done, I go to bed
I waste no water
On the words
Because they are no longer words of waste
They are words of freedom, of mother sun, of new growth sprouted from the remnants of a broken cycle.
Sunday night.
I am saving water. As always.
Kaleidoscope | Liam Zalubas | Photography