I looked to without, instead of within,
the buoyancy aid that no longer swims
an external holding that was
just an illusion
a made-up craft, a
fake sense of inclusion.
So why hold on so long to an aid
that clearly no longer served me?
Was fear of drowning
the option that made
me feel I should adapt
and, probably, pervert
my core value?
Or was it the fear of feeling adrift
in a dark ocean of lonely:
that swaying sense of sad, of swirl,
afraid to let what is, unfurl.
(pic courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net/fantasista)