[Objective]

“THE OCEAN GREW HANDS TO HOLD ME”

In full storm I stand alone on the diving board at the pier.
Thinking and sinking in thought with no fear, as if it was the norm:

My body floating in open water, bloated.
Soaked with contempt, if there's a poet;
he wrote it.

Most ignore subsurface souls contorted.
Indoor socialization left my person waterboarded.
Bottled Institutionalized wonder, animosity killed the cat
with self inflicted wounds that spilled the batch.
Alarm clocks slumber, like: I don't need your number.
Correction... "You're", and comma after "need",
and add the sweet underscore.
Forget all that, I tend to blunder "yore".
You:Sea.
I ventured past the aftermath that laughter has
with the see-through deep blue bastards mask.
Surfing waves of real dynamic connections
trying to keep my head above water.
Titanic self-reflection bring such an awkward thing-
ordering empathy while snorkeling society
wondering which pitchforks they'll bring to reality.
Poseidon, your rich words are king.

Gusts catch my navy blue North Face jacket of size,
the hood tightly embrace my dome and halfway cover my eyes.
Strong winds do not deafen the violent waves
as they break their momentum on rocks.
Shocked I see that weather is not my enemy in this.
Trying not to lose balance, I reminisce:

Under clear skies and a scorching sun
I've seen the crystal clear waters of the wonderful Red Sea-
In Dahab where sea life's more colorful than confetti.
Comforting light beige sand and a Lionfish lingering
with its poison touch among mingling seaweed.
My body drifts freely above submerged cliffs
with dark mysteries of what's beneath,
where deepwater fish are practically blind and got razor sharp teeth.
The current shifts-
dragging me down with breathtaking scenery.
A sole clown fish teetering between the gifts
given by coral reefs and underwater greenery.
At last I flounder along the bottom,
and my friends are out of sight.

No more Red Sea,
just the Norwegian ocean of might.
I stand on the edge in full storm. Rain and wind howl.
Scrounging for 2 cents, a strong breeze reply with a growl.
Waves roar with foam towards exposed rock,
soaring powerful thoughts enclosed shut.
Is this death?
I suppose,
not.

On this edge
I see my future.
What it'd look like if I let it float
bloated with contempt.

Fiction, he wrote. Italic for style points.
Convinced life force is a body of water.

I'm home now. Here. Slender and slim.
The deep blue sea kept me afloat,
and taught me how to swim.