Untitled —
I’ve been at sea for fifteen years —
Cast into a vast ocean with nothing but my will to live,
or lack thereof.
At first I swam —
Determined to find land,
And when I could see it,
My exhausted body failed me
and I quickly was pulled back out to sea.
Unwilling to accept such a fate,
I rested —
Floating on the waves,
Cresting and falling as they pleased,
Knowingly drifting father out but unable to contend with the tides,
And when I finally mustered the strength,
I swam again to no avail.
My salt-stung eyes had seen land.
A promise which they never kept but which gave me hope enough to tread on.
My heart wasn’t ready to drown,
Unbeknownst to my body,
Which felt like an anchor long detached from its ship.
But the water was never still
and so neither could I be.
Storms came and went,
Washing me below undulating waves and pushing me back to the surface
If only long enough to gasp for the little air that kept me alive —
Though sometimes I wish it didn’t.
Over time I grew resentful of their indecision
And only swam only out of spite.
When skies cleared
I was reminded of the sun’s warmth.
I stopped to bask atop the softened waves,
Cresting and falling as they pleased.
And, feeling hopeful again,
My skin began to burn and crack.
My blisters wept into the ocean
Where the salt both seared and sterilized my wounds.
The price to pay for life, I suppose.
And, although they cauterized,
They never truly closed.
So weary of the water and betrayed by the sun, I held my breath
And weighed myself down,
Begging my useless body to fail as it had so many times before.
But for the first of many times,
It would not
And I became furious —
With my body,
With the sun,
And with the water
In which I’ve treaded for fifteen years,
Where I continue to swim,
Because once I saw land
And my heart isn’t ready to drown.