THE FLOOD

Why do I let these thoughts flood my mind

rising like a tide

relentless and all consuming

drowning in the possibility that everything i worked for will eventually unravel at the very seams

and then there’s the never quite landing where I intended - part

When I grip his arm—something feels foreign

a flicker of doubt creeping in

But then he pulls me back - anchors me

and I realize—I’m letting them dictate my every thought

twisting my mind into a shape that isn’t mine

Or maybe it is

maybe it’s not them at all

maybe the unrest is stitched into my own skin

woven into the fabric of my being

Because the truth is, I am dissatisfied

with work, with routine—maybe even with life itself

Yet him and I - we drift through dreams and realities

balancing on the knife’s edge of growth and commitment

learning to embrace the shadow selves we kept locked away

Still, I see parts of myself I wish weren’t there—

shallow, fickle parts

If it isn’t beautiful, does it even matter?

If it doesn’t gleam, is it worth anything at all?

The world outside our walls doesn’t feel safe

the world is unkind to love like ours

To be clear, we are safe

but the world watches

it whispers

and I hear every damn word

But truly, my enemy is my ego

clinging to scraps of endorsement

a beast that feeds on validation,

it begs—stand behind me, hold me up

My ego tells me our years together should matter more

that longevity should be a badge of honor

it aches for the girl who settled for far less than she deserved

it pleads—be seen, be liked

it is shameful, but here I am

But I have never felt this fragile,

so uncertain of myself, so rattled

like a stepped on thing

And yet, he cradles my soul in wings so vast,

so full of life, so full of love

the kind of love we share is the kind of love I wish I saw growing up

he is a divine counterpart

my divine counterpart

i feel so lucky

Still, these souls haunt me

their presence lingering,

though I know—deep down—it is not them.

not their judgments or their proclamations

it is my ego, whispering, begging, clawing.

and I must kill her.

I indulge in substances I once shied away from

and I believe those parts of me have already surrendered

the rope has been hung

What’s left if not my fragile ego?