Sink

I wasn't sailing alone for long. But I was.
I remember thick, salty wind blowing in my face rather than supporting my hollowed back. 
I heard my struggling, tight gasping as I lost the reasons I kept my head under the wind.
So I ripped my throat wide open with the courage you handed me so long ago, so I could inhale, but what I breathed burned like peroxide. 
I saw nothing, as I grabbed for gauze and band-aids but I realized I had ran out many battles ago.
My life jacket had deflated when I popped a hole in it trying to swim as far away as I could.
I sat there, saying farewell to ragged hands, and they held my shaking voice together, because I was too out of breath for "hellos" anymore.
I worried if I hand drifted to an island, if the blood of my guilt would follow in trails of ribbon behind my shattered lifeboat. 
If I would be turned away.

If I was to far gone to be fixed.
That I couldn't have a paradise.
I thought I was going to drown. And I did.
But I want change.
I am a surgeon for the broken-hearted.
I think it's my obligation to bring that silky-soft fire-proof blanket over the shoulders of others who don't have the strength to blow out the flames anymore.
I needed a way to see.
I cut bifocals out of sea glass so I could imagine what it would be like to live with greened greed. Greed of self.
I feel saved because of my endless eternity of perceiving daisies now when all I saw was rows of thorns.
I forgive myself.
Now I can change.
I will build a world of strange things that bring me dire need. I wanted to make a bed golden daises and cry aloud for how far I've come.
I choose to accept that I won't always get the joy ride. I'll float along in most storm, keeping my face above the iced water. I refuse to sink.
I dream for warmth.
I hope I wash up on someone's loving shore. Sparkling with sand of new time.
I predict nothing.
I know I will drift on.