I didn’t understand.

Talk is cheap,

Advice is grand.

They’re selling waves the sand.

You needed help

and all I could see was me.

Ropey kelp

in my darker sea.

Standing in my streams you’d find

my fear that you didn’t love me enough.

That I had not been kind.

That you were not made tough.

Unbeknownst to me,

like others with the sting

of stigma that comes between

getting help and forever treading.

Eventually as I learned more

about the streams I dipped my toes

I pulled up roots from my ocean floors;

Make way for further water flows.

You needed help.

Now all I can see is you.

Flying sea foam whelp

on my deep sea blue.

Oceans