like a goodbye party
it seems as if we could exist on land forever
like we've forgotten that only mere minutes spent under something more dense,
something like water,
could pop these lungs that we expect to inflate like helium balloons,
into the remnants of a successful childhood birthday party,
the cheap sound of deflated rubber shreds, used party hats, and old plastic cups
yet we still swim
we go down there to remember that they could deflate into something worse
a faded red once scarlet, forgotten and left hovering only slightly above the surface til it's too sad to even look at,
let alone pop
like a going away party when I jump into something heavier than air,
and I feel my lungs compress and raise inside of me letting me know there's no natural response to the pressure,
no feedback that demands a reaction,
the exhale or the inhale, the goodbye or the 'see ya later'
and the uncomfortability that comes with both.
I don't know what to say.
I want there to be noise in the water, I want us all to be there,
and I want those that aren't to tell me to relax, to trust them and not the surroundings,
to tell me that inspiration does not only have to come from what has expired
to promise me that I can learn to dive deep and make it back alive,
so I'll know that it's something more than just luck that allows us to breathe so easily on the same surface, the land, that has tricked us into thinking
that the act of respiration is something we can trust no matter where we go.
With tenderness, deemo