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)