themes: trauma, sensitivity, power

you scorn the weapons i run from

and yet you turn my tears to bullets

pointing at me as i break apart

becoming the thing i feared most

you turn my own body against me

but when i stare back in the mirror

it was my own nails breaking skin

and my own hand choking out air

my Father gave His own heart to me

and you tried to cut the line

the power in my saline rain

grows weak with every shot

but my tears could fill an ocean

one that starts beautiful life below

or drowns out your precious breath

roll the dice and take your pick