Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 23
I let the anxiety crash over me,
Like a barreling wave—
The whitewash dragging me under,
My body a helpless doll
FIlled with the question of “up.”
My eyes stung from the salt
And my hair lassoed my throat,
Until I had no choice
But to succomb to the ravaging
And hope that I would, someday,
   come up for air.
Jesus is my air. My hope.
Written by
Sia Harms
Please log in to view and add comments on poems