Within my own little satellite,
I ward off the flowing tide.
When the tide falls,
I am beached, exposed.
In my bubble,
My solemnly solitary silence
Screams unspoken insults,
Hoping for me to step outside
And drown once more.
I want to open my door,
Especially when I’m with them,
But I always shut it more.
An unwanted reaction,
With fragmented reasoning.
Maybe they’ll step inside
And give me a hand.
Maybe I should just grow some fins.
If I actually couldn’t swim, that’d be pathetic. If you are landlocked, it’s perfectly reasonable, but I live a 5 min drive away from the ocean..