Balance

The day is nice enough to go for a swim. In water I web, my scars yawn slowly, blink in bubbles. Kicking and punching the way I came into this world, till the sea around me tires.

The sky dots all its clouds and is an indulgent summertime blue. I would do anything to be the same: mute, creature with creature comforts, effortless. Instead, I am a mottled patchwork that worries and wants to be in camouflage, wants to be lost and subdued in a holding environment.

(Insert names of everyone who never touched me.)

So, a compromise: sea, hold me, even though I lash out and seem ungrateful. Let me start by standing chin-deep in this crest of waves and learn to be enveloped without fighting (for) it. Under water I can be a single-hued anything: cow, ship before the wreck, plastic piece of art. And later, let me remember the weight of almost-floating, the gift of stewing in different elements simultaneously. Neither dry nor drowning, but finding the limits of both.