I take salt shakers to the water spicket and I make my own oceans.
Tide lines have eroded themselves into my waist.
I know all of the sea monsters by name.
I don’t want to submarine again.
I don’t want to grow sea **** in my lungs again.
There are cyclones I have made with my red and pruned toes because I make what I am.
I scratch at my skin.
Clammy and white.
I peel off layers.
I am only trying to baptize myself again.
I am only trying to baptize myself again.
Salty and stinging my eyes.
I am only trying to clean myself off again.
I am only trying to clean myself off again.
Sitting in my own oceans.