Caught in the clouds,
I'd stare into the grey sky
Just waiting for rain to cascade
From each puff of clouds
To wash away my imperfections.

Eyes on the prize, eyes on myself
As I stare around I've been locked;
Closeted by my own broken closet,
And always saw a scream for help.

Sands across my feet, the warmth
Still indented in my memory; the air
searing against my skin, and the sun
over my ******* body like a storm.

It was the first time, I'd been *******
not by my lonesome, but in public;
And though I still hated my stomach,
It was the first time I'd felt air on my skin,
I'd felt the freedom that the beaches' promise.

All the starving myself in front of a mirror,
could not compare to the joy of running-
through arid sands, stepping into the tepid-
waters all the while not caring that my image;
that my body; that my skin; was inferior.

The lucent beams of the moon could
clash with the burning sun and shine a spotlight
on who I was in that moment, and it would have
garnered no self hatred nor self disgust at
what I saw in the mirror-like waters,
I was not beautiful, I was not handsome but no...
I was human. I needn't need to be anyone,
but myself and my ******* self agreed to that
even more.

While trying to find freedom on a beach,
I found freedom in myself,
And if I had once screamed for help;
That scream is now mute,silent,
For I have found my closet.
Freedom was my closet,
And I drowned in it.