I am a river.
Ripples and waves and trees rocked by thunder.
The creek won’t cut it — I’m Niagara Falls.
Don’t tell me your sorrows, I won’t hear them,
Not over my thrash and rise.
My current’s a riot and I’m flooding,
All ice and fury.
I don’t cower, not anymore,
Not after what you did.
You left me to rot, but I didn’t,
I met the reeds,
They wrapped their roots around me,
And armoured me in green,
When I grew strong I braced, I told them what you did.
We’re seething, now, the reeds and me.
Livid for the waters and vines,
The ones you spoiled and strangled,
You thought we’d let that slide,
The thing is, I’m not a fan of slippery,
Only steady storms,
I found my temper in the torrent,
Where there’s no cleansing of crimes.
You say I’m churning false streams, now,
A crusade against your kind,
But really, I’m planning a tempest,
You can’t run, you can’t hide,
I’ll be bigger than Iguazú, and not as nice as Tame,
And I’ve left mercy at the riverbank,
Because you did the same.