I once set sail to a shipwreck and no one’s heard back from me yet.

Whether or not this storm can be weathered, my torn sails and bruised masts will be seen fighting the futile.
And whether or not I can come back from this, I won’t dock at familiar shores for a while.

This salty shame-filled seawater may as well be the blood that flows so reluctantly through my veins because inside it all feels the same and at least then I could give the ocean some of this blame.

I’m still made of rotten wood and rusted nails,
I just got better at sinking.

But I’m tired of throwing buckets of salt water over my head hoping I don’t slip,
So maybe I’ll take a break from going down with the ship.

So maybe I can take note from the tide and change.
Because I'm so ******* tired of trying to figure out how I wound up on this page.

Blame it on bad luck, blame it on love, blame it on god,  blame it on the price of a new heart, blame it on a bad start, blame it on the ******* weather,
But even as the water rises, I can still hear the echoing lament of a would-be sailor,
“I swear I can be better.”

I wish I could unsee myself.

And then come back in a little while and lay untrained eyes upon the skin I’m forced to wear.
Would it all look the same?
I’d trace all the lines to their ends and find something I didn’t hate in my appendages.

There’s truth in them bones.

Under layers of ligaments, blood, and a whole assortment of other lies, they lie in wait.

They know we’re just borrowing any time we find and we never really owned that breath we try so desperately to hold inside.
There’s a reason for that chill running down your spine.
But I brushed it aside and left my bones in a closet while I found a new place to hide.

I want to let them out but they’re buried so deep under piles of ***** laundry and sorrow-soaked organs.
And I’m worried that with each new ache time makes that I won’t be able to shake them back awake

But I'm still alive.
And so if existence is resistance then maybe I can still win this

So I’m going to tear it all off,
The tattered rotten garbs that so desperately cling to my bones like parasites along for the ride,
Eating up what little marrow remains inside.

Maybe then I can chisel this monkey off my back and finally make myself perpendicular to the ground,
And show gravity that it’s not always that easy to keep me down.

And anyway, I’ve been looking to lose a few pounds.