Maybe you don't understand
The appreciation I have for drowning
But I really like the  way
The water loves my lungs

Swimming the English Channel,
struggling to make it to Calais,
I swam into Laura halfway across.
My body oiled for warmth,
black rubber cap on my head,
eyes hidden behind goggles,
I was exhausted, ready to drown,
when I saw her coming toward me,
bobbing up and down between waves,
effortlessly doing a breaststroke,
heading for Dover.  Treading water
I asked in French if she spoke English,
and she said, "Yes, I'm an American."
I said, "Hey, me too," then asked her out for coffee.

the wind is harshly blowing
slamming into my window
the sound is growing
louder and harder
the sound makes me feel empty
my heart feels cold
even though the blankets hold
me

I'm going to assume you had a mother,
as so many do.
You might even have a sister.
One day, you'll be a father.
It might be a daughter.

I'm someone's daughter.
Don't you understand?
I'm not just an object.
How would you feel,
if someone did this to your daughter
or mother or sister or friend?