A drop in my ocean of devotion.

It began so quietly,

a murmur,

a sideways glance,

a shift in the air’s temperature.

Something small,

something slick,

trying to cling to the surface of my focus.

*

At first,

I felt it.

That’s the truth.

A sting can still sting,

even if it’s small in proportion.

*

It spread through uncontrolled breaths,

sank deeper into racing heartbeats.

*

But then,

I remembered my waters.

My depth.

My history.

Every voice that ever held me open.

Every hand that ever lifted me.

Every love that kept my waves

in steady, quiet devotion.

*

They rose in me like a tide,

slow and certain,

no hesitation,

washing the sheen of negativity

back into blur,

back into nothing,

back into its rightful position.

*

a disappearing shimmer

on the surface of an ocean.

on the surface of my ocean.

*

And above, I watched it lose shape.

Lose shine.

Lose any claim to importance or emotion.

Because when you live wide,

when your heart spans miles,

no single moment of darkness

has the range

to interrupt your circulation.

*

Poetry is how I romanticise the hurt,

Chant along with me..

for you see..

*

I am bigger than the hurt.

Older than the fear.

Fuller than the noise.

My spirit has its own current,

its own language,

its own devotion.

*

And every time the world tests me,

I return to that truth..

I am not a puddle,

not a pond,

not a cup that spills open

from one careless touch.

*

I am water with memory.

I am depth with intention.

I am the endless, rising ocean.

*

So when the next drop falls,

and it will..

I won’t flinch,

won’t fold,

won’t reopen.

It will land,

it will shimmer,

and then it will vanish,

as all small things do

in the presence

of something vast.

*

Because nothing small

can survive long

in a soul this expansive,

a heart this chosen by God-

saving me with light and love.

*

What tries to wound me

fades by design,

a brief disturbance,

a passing ripple,

a drop of oil

lost forever

in the whole ocean.