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Pond
Behind my childhood home
There was a pond
People called it peaceful
Still water, no resistance, no disruption.
But if you stood close enough
You could smell everything it kept
Dead leaves, storm water.
Things that entered and never left.
Years later I realized
I had mistaken that same
Stillness for stability
So I stayed in places
That slowly emptied me
Calling it loyalty instead of fear.
But rivers understood
What stagnant people forget
Anything that refuses to move
Eventually begins to decay quietly
And I refuse to spend my life
Rotting gently in places
I was meant to outgrow
