Nappy Nubian Poet

My tongues flickers to the right of my top lip in efforts to catch the salty water.

Stop them from drenching me.

This taste is one I thought I would have forgotten.

For he once told me tears equate to weakness.

His lip would curl in disgust as he turned away, unable to look at my exasperated display of emotion.

If I cannot be vulnerable with those closest to me, then the stereotypical hardened ice queen is in the making.

Frozen in an emotionless state.

With this considered, I guess the taste of salty water is reassurance that I feel, still. That I'm real, still.

So I give myself license to let the rivers swell, burgeon and overflow into the moisture deprived banks and drought ravaged land..

The land must be nourished.

The greenery must thrive.

The crops must bear fruit.

The wounds must heal.

For what is life, if one can't feel?