Stagnant

I’ve fully pulled myself from the
submergence of a stagnant creek. 
Wiping off the moss that’s grown
from my own rotten memory. 

I figured
I could wade in the water with 
the leeches, or I could exit with
the scars of their tiny, ringed 
teeth littering my skin. 

Tis’ not an easy life to live, 
bloodless. 
Tis’ not a day that goes by that I 
don’t doubt the level of color in my
face or the tiredness in my eyes. 

Sometimes I glance at the reflection
and see merely a ghost of the broken. 
Other times I see the greatest warrior
I’ve ever encountered. 

If there is one thing I know for certain,
I am not stagnant, and that has made
all the difference in my tide. 

– B. 

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