i’ve seen the secrets of the sea

swum with monsters made of daydreams

i bought your story

about the things that lurk in the deep

i’ve felt the waves lap against my feet

and the seaweed twist around my fingertips

dragging me places the sun doesn’t reach

and no one else will ever follow

and watched the bubbles drift out of my mouth

i’ve seen a land where secrets hide

in treasure chests and states of mind

i’ve looked in the mirror, and met the eyes

of someone i don’t know

i’ve fashioned myself a monster

hiding in the darkness, never to be seen

i’ve hidden pieces of myself in the deep

and bolted them down

never to wash ashore, and never to be found

I thought I was going to be a lifeguard for a while–and maybe this just goes to show what kind of little kid I was, but I always had this weird, morbid fascination with drowning, probably just because I learned about its effects super young. (Not in a suicidal way, just in a sad, weird little kid way.) I remember, always getting really freaked out by that moment when you dive to the bottom, and your lungs burn, and you push to the top, but you’re not sure you’re going to get up in time–and then you surface, and it’s fine. I do a lot of swimming, even now; I’ve always loved the water. That’s where I tried to draw this poem from.

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