The water has risen.
The fish have multiplied.
Diversified.
Some are spiky and intimidating.
Your room is an aquarium.
I have to keep an eye on you
through the sunroof now.
I saw when the flood began,
a shallow pool with tiny fish,
colourful, strange, even loveable,
but this is not normal or expected.
You have to stop.
Stop letting them flow
through the taps.
Find a more manageable outlet
of expression.
More acceptable .
It rose past your windows.
It spilled through your sunroof,
ocean water touching my hands and feet.
The fish are flooding out into the world now.
This has clearly got out of hand.
But you want to flow
no matter if anyone understands.
If it makes you feel free,
should I leave you be
to spill out of the lines
so beautifully?