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Remember how he cast you

out into the wilderness, left you

marooned on an island of your own

misery. Remember how you gave in to

the current. How you wanted to drown,

so you dropped like a diving bell,

down to the bottom of the ocean

in your mind, hoping it would swallow you,

but you didn’t know the sea was already

full of broken hearts, and the tide would

just spit you back out onto the shore,

leave you gasping for air, for love,

when all you wanted was to be an empty

treasure chest, to be the rotting skeleton

of a sunken ship. But you are not an

underwater tragedy, or some wrecked

lifeboat that couldn’t even save itself.

You want to make a grave out of this seabed

to bury your beating heart in, but starfish

and seashells weren’t meant to be tombstones.

Dig your bones out of the sand, you are lighter than

you think. Untangle yourself from the seaweed

net you were weaving for cover, and float

until your palms break the surface of

your soul, and you can taste the sun again.

Because you are an anchor, and

sometimes holding yourself down

means lifting yourself up.



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