I'm not sure if this is a poem as much as it is a journal entry that couldn't hold its shape, but I wanted to share it:
THERE IS A LIE INSIDE OF ME THAT TELLS ME I DON'T HAVE A RIGHT TO BE SO UPSET
12 feet or 12 miles down . . .
underwater is underwater.
drowning is drowning.
Once you are caught
Pulled under the surface
Exactly how deep you go
doesn't really matter
And no one ever says to a drowning victim
"You have no right to be dying
You were in the Atlantic,
not the mariana trench"
No one would try to get you to breathe
Before they pull you up
If you are fighting and kicking
and pushing your way back up
don't let them tell you it wasn't real
just because you could
see the sun the whole time
Below is below is below
You cannot breathe down there
Don't beat yourself up for it
The line between ocean and air is very clear
All water under that line suffocates
You are not to be dismissed
just because you couldn't breathe.
I come here now, and I see lots of anger.
I don't blame anyone for that. It is perfectly understandable.
But it is not healthy for me.
So I'm going somewhere else.
Goodbye and good healing.