Jan 28


Night wraps the worry in unexpected paper 
pretending to give me gifts
Everything gets empty.

Oceans washing my scalp 
tides are certain, shells are not
The body is like the tide 
and the mind is like the sharp shells

I am prone to thinking the seaweed 
is biting fish

I am prone to dipping my feet in and 
imagining my whole body fighting waves

I am prone to taking a life vest in the water 
because I think it will be a boat

I am prone to thinking I am the only one 
slipping off the dock

I am prone to telling myself I can swim 
after almost drowning 

I don’t know if I trust my arms to 
handle waves

because I am prone to throw 
shell after shell after shell
instead of getting out of the water
About the Author: fire girl
" to choose to write is to reject silence" - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie