This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Columbia Barnard chapter.
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.