Mold

My foot was molding. Because it was dipped in water.
My hand was molding. Because it was trailing the water going back and forth.
I'm sitting in a wooden chair. And it was molding because it rocks in water.
My bruises were covered in mold and were swelling up.
My vulnerability was stripped naked and started to mold. It stung.
I sat in my mold. It smelled and made me cry.
I peered over at dry land where the mold would not survive but I stayed where I was.
Sometimes I would go to a dry patch of land but water would creep up and I would start to mold again.
Staying on dry land where it is safe and mold free is hard sometimes.
But everyday I try again and try to stay as dry as possible.