This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Columbia Barnard chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.
Vulnerability is
soft rain
drizzling on my face,
traveling down my cheek;
a river surging,
brushing past my lips,
dropping.
Vulnerability is refusing to be
a faucet when you are a
waterfall.
Vulnerability is
a gentle kiss, the dew of the morning,
a commanding yell, unrelenting, storming, flooding;
a soft mother,
a cold fighter.
I am both
soft rain and surging rivers.