What the Water Made Me

Often I have wondered what the water made me.
To new life raised through quiet waters,
I was lifted out of the old, tumultuous Self
And given freedom to live for Another.

With that act I made public declaration
Of my intentions to cut off from the past
My old life of self-aggrandizing indulgences
And swore an inward oath to the same.

How I have failed, over and over, and again!
How I have drifted into self-love and ego
Masked with purer intentions and longings!
Where is that oath now? How far I’ve come…

Failure weighs on me until my chest is crushed
And the breath is driven from my lungs,
Fighting for air, clawing my way through the water,
Desperate to reach the grace of the surface.

Sometimes I wonder if I came to the water too soon.
But here you are: a newborn of that second-life
Declaring the same to a family not of blood–
At least, not the way the world talks of it.

My hope is that the water changes you in other ways,
That when your eyes are opened, you see clearly–
And not only the bad; for my only hope is this:
That the water is not done making me.

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