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    [post_date] => 2020-10-05 11:16:49
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    [post_content] => the complexities of water  i was taught in water       to be fearless but take care       to not dive too deep or swim too shallow            and i wonder if that’s what i        am doing with you as your fingers stroke        me forwards and back until        i mistake my tears for  the ocean and my body       for a ripple i can’t control.      this time there is no  lifeguard to shout ‘stand up      put your foot down’          this time there is only – i was taught in class that      when the ground is too dry     it will flood and i wonder if that is what’s happening     to me as i stare and stitch   myself back up for you (even though i hate needles)   as you take my last few      drops of living until i empty and mistake a cage                        for your arms.                   this time i am too deep this time i can’t –                       i was taught in school           that water moulds to what is solid and i wonder if            that’s what i have become     as i grow inwardly to make  more space for you          as the mirror becomes the only       space i see myself as  more than a fraction           (for without you i am not whole)    it seems that i am now walking on shells                   in an island only i can see             so ‘you’ won’t crack and still my hands                          won’t pick up                         these pieces of me. this time is the last time               this time I won’t –                   i am learning in life that wounds will heal              with time and so i must wait        letting salt wrung my haggard breaths              head barely afloat and eyes         the colour of a  rusting fist as this time             i reach for the lifeboat                  instead of your hand.
    [post_title] => the complexities of water 
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    [post_modified] => 2020-10-15 14:24:22
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            [wpcf-date-published] => 2020
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is commended in August Challenge #3: Repetition & Imagery on Young Poets Network. This challenge was set and judged by Foyle Young Poet Ife Olatona in 2020.
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            [wpcf-poem-award] => Commended, August Challenge #3: Repetition & Imagery
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            [ID] => 21189
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Lauren Lisk
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            [content] => Lauren is a top 15 winner of the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award 2020, and is commended in August Challenge #3: Repetition & Imagery on Young Poets Network.
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    [ID] => 21189
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Lauren Lisk
    [slug] => lauren-lisk
    [content] => Lauren is a top 15 winner of the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award 2020, and is commended in August Challenge #3: Repetition & Imagery on Young Poets Network.
)

the complexities of water 

Lauren Lisk

the complexities of water  i was taught in water       to be fearless but take care       to not dive too deep or swim too shallow            and i wonder if that’s what i        am doing with you as your fingers stroke        me forwards and back until        i mistake my tears for  the ocean and my body       for a ripple i can’t control.      this time there is no  lifeguard to shout ‘stand up      put your foot down’          this time there is only – i was taught in class that      when the ground is too dry     it will flood and i wonder if that is what’s happening     to me as i stare and stitch   myself back up for you (even though i hate needles)   as you take my last few      drops of living until i empty and mistake a cage                        for your arms.                   this time i am too deep this time i can’t –                       i was taught in school           that water moulds to what is solid and i wonder if            that’s what i have become     as i grow inwardly to make  more space for you          as the mirror becomes the only       space i see myself as  more than a fraction           (for without you i am not whole)    it seems that i am now walking on shells                   in an island only i can see             so ‘you’ won’t crack and still my hands                          won’t pick up                         these pieces of me. this time is the last time               this time I won’t –                   i am learning in life that wounds will heal              with time and so i must wait        letting salt wrung my haggard breaths              head barely afloat and eyes         the colour of a  rusting fist as this time             i reach for the lifeboat                  instead of your hand.