I have always told you I am a tsunami,
more on moments when you beg for a love that is smooth-sailing.
I knew I could never weaken myself enough to turn my violent waves into calm currents.
I am a towering strength, crashing down and rising up, in repeat, in never-ending cycles.
When I crash down, I destroy things, hopes and even dreams. I am a disaster, drowning people with my depression, crippling with my anxiety.
When I rise up, I build from fragments, and most are jagged, torn, wounding. I am a disaster, displacing people with my magnitude, carrying all they have with me, leaving them with nothing.
I crashed down. Lights off, wrists slashed.
You came and took all the pills away. Your arms blanketed over me, as I cried,
chest heaving up and down, like tidal waves.
I crashed down. Anxiety-ridden, eyes are blanked.
You came and cradled my face. Your eyes locked on mine, as I stare,
a deafening calmness, like that before a storm.
Last night you pulled me closer, and never blinking you told me:
You’re the only one I want to be with. Forever. I love you and you alone.
I have always told you I am a tsunami.
And you always replied with how you wanted a love that is smooth-sailing.
All along I thought you were asking me to weaken myself, to lower my waves,
but I completely missed-out how you have always been my shore-
– waiting, patiently waiting
for this tsunami heart of mine to come home.