Afraid to let my puddle drip
wondering where it would flow once splashed
would it snake over hill and stone
feeding other puddles ponds and streams
free to create ripples
that become currents
maybe turning into a tidal waves within the seas

I am Still Waters

Being a tributary; very seldom
doesn’t lead to lakes or rivers 
most times I‘m just a pooling; isolated
it seems more restorative; as not to offend
by my predestined unintentional depths and width
ostracized by the bodies that make up 
the womanhood ocean

I am Still Waters

Distanced; experiencing what others
can't or won't; with all my drops
seeking communication; one-ness, belonging
I seem only necessary when they're parched
they seek me then
to quench a thirst; quell a fire
my mist is a rainstorm

I am Still Waters

I watch the various bodies
of which I could belong and ask
could I not contribute to you
creating something larger,
invite you; to take a dip in me
unburden yourself  beside me
partake in my wetness and adjoin with me?

I am Still Waters

I harbor life within my depths
allowing a bountiful harvest
wade within me; be carried along
my ebbs and waves 
playfully enjoy me
I can be gratifying
educating; life sustaining
 
I am Still Waters

Still there are dams
Unseeing of the rainbow that leads to and from me
or the reflections of their sister self upon my surface
to them, I am peculiar; foreign 
unacceptably, acceptable
that only which my creator knows
of my true depth and flows 

I am Still Waters