Drowning in Puddles
Built for oceans, not puddles. Where passion meets restraint and suffocates.
I am drowning.
The water’s barely ankle-deep.
But here I am
suffocating in puddles,
crushing under the weight of nothing,
gasping for meaning in the shallows,
while the depth I was built for
is out of reach.
Don’t tell me to float.
Don’t tell me to be grateful for the safety.
Some of us were born for oceans,
not bathtubs
with pretty towels
and polite routines.
There is no glory in this stillness.
No revelation in restraint.
Only a slow erosion
of purpose,
of pulse,
of presence.
They say be thankful for the calm.
But they do not know
what it is to be born for storms,
then punished for your lightning.
To carry fire in your chest
and be told it’s too bright.
To think in galaxies
while they measure your worth in inches.
To care too loudly.
To feel too sharply.
To bleed truth
and be called too much.
I rage beneath the glass
a scream with no echo,
a voice too deep for shallow ears.
Still, I am drowning in puddles.
Until the next loop: keep your knots light and your vibes right.
Want some more?
See What You’re Tangled In:
Sometimes we don’t drown in the vast ocean, but stumble in small puddles.
Peace is not about clearing away every puddle, but about learning to walk through them keeping the inner rhythm quiet and bright.
Đôi khi ta không chìm trong biển lớn, mà lại lạc bước trong những vũng nước nhỏ. Bình an không phải là dọn sạch hết mọi vũng, mà là học cách bước qua chúng, giữ cho nhịp sống bên trong vẫn lặng và sáng.