Dec. 7, 2015:
I don’t like going underwater.
The water closes in on me
in a claustrophobic hug
intended to be liberating
but in it I feel trapped.
I feel held down.
Quite literally, I cannot breathe.
This tight embrace
the sea longs to give me
does not make me hate it.
No.
The sea is a playground
full of imaginative potential,
the only limit being drowning.
I refuse to drown.
I refuse to be pulled under
by hungry sea dwellers
and selfish undertows.
I will not be pulled down.
I will frolic.
As if on my own two feet,
I will prance through water
I will swim, no, glide
through this abstract blueness.
I will keep swimming
until I can no longer see land.
There is a certain point in the sea
you can swim out to
and all you can feel is fear.
Fear of sharks
Fear of where the land has gone
Fear of yourself.
I will swim past this point.
This monster called Fear
will sink like rocks thrown into the sea by children.
I will swim out into this curious abyss
with no fear and all of my strength.
My arms and legs will tire.
My throat will become sore.
But I will keep swimming.
My head will stay above water
because I am motivated by a will to live
and I refuse to drown.
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