You'll See Better Underwater

I remember being on a boat on a cold winter's day.

My heart had just been broken so the water was dark and murky,

not showing me the way.


I tried to peer beyond

The world my eyes could see,

but my soul could not sing with familiarity.


I was an intruder, an outsider,

not a fish swimming under.


The waves crashed faster,


beating in quick succession

as if replacing my heart beats

with the violent crashes of their own.


I didn't know where I was, or why I was,

my heart didn't feel my own.

I tried and cried in the still heaving shell,

but each tear, each crash, just water.


I waited and waited for the storm to abate,

and slowly, surely, the waves began to lessen.

The waves still beat inside my chest

but I could now dry my eyes and to the shore head.


I pedaled and pedaled

so hard it seemed,

but all I could travel was nowhere

knowing not what had came.


My emotions felt muted

unsure of who they were.

I tried to peer through the water, but above

I could not.


So I dove into the cold water,

holding my breath for air.

I swam like a fish

and saw quite clear.


The waves in my chest flowed freely, free

and mingled with the waves so I could see.


I watched them and weighed them like fish at a market

till I rose from the water,

wiser by far.

No longer blind to the warmth of my chest.

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