I'm a Pond He called me a pond. I was being sensitive (like I know how to be anything else) and he said that I was like a little pond. I thought, fuck you. I am not a pond. A little, still, little pond. As if anyone could walk by and kick something in me, disrupting my placidity. Muddy and filled with weeds. Pebbles disturbing me. People trampling on me, splashing around, kicking through and leaving. I am not a pond. A sensitive, little, easily defeated pond. And then I thought, wait. A pond's pretty big. I'm thinking of a puddle. I'm not a puddle. I'm okay with being a pond, but I'm no puddle.
