the overwhelming chlorine enfolds itself unto my skin,
the fluorescent lights paste themselves to the back of my eyelids,
the cold salt-less waves lap against the harsh brown concrete,
over and over and over again.
every monday.
every thursday.
it's one thing to be plunging in the water,
shuddering and choking on that awful taste,
falling behind since elementary because--
no matter how hard you kick or how intently you listen,
you're the slowest one there--
and--
you. can't. get. better.
that's all fine.
it's another to stand on the deck,
awkwardly shift your body to look smaller, fold inwards,
smooth out your eyebrows until a few fleck into your fingers,
dig your nails into your arms (but, careful! don't be obvious about it),
try to smile and--
every monday.
every thursday.
i go back to that awful awful pool deck
that reeks of chemicals and humiliation
that always makes me retreat into my cells
and
every monday.
every thursday.
i reconsider the possibility of
drowning myself,
in the pool.
me: im really sorry coach. i can't come to the swim meet.
coach: oh. why? we'll miss you.
me: piano recital...i couldn't move it around.
but i wish that maybe one day i can tell her the truth;
that last time i went i had a panic attack
and i wouldn't stop crying and begging mom to let me skip
and of course, i got last place in every ******* race
and when i came back i shoved ******* up my throat
and swore never to go again.
