When the Water Finally Eats Me, I Hope It Eats Me Whole

  • 1)
    I am not solid, I am waiting, waiting, waiting. 
    I am waiting to change or to die. 
    I am liquid in a thin container. 
    I am upon rocks between the permanent and the night-rising tide.
    I am under a faulty lamppost that the government won’t turn on. 
    I am outside of the flashing green and red buoys that mark the sailing current. 
    I am my sneakers in water up to my ankles because I haven’t moved.
  • 2)
    I kept the flowers that you put in my hair in my shower for a month after you left me. I knew I did not love you because every time I would walk home after seeing you, I would repeat to myself that I was an empty vessel:
    “I am an empty vessel; a container with nothing in it. I have no love to give you or anyone else. I have nothing left to feel. I am a leaf in the wind, I have no permanence.”
  • 3)
    It’s like the part of me I’ve always known, I’ve always had, the part that is standing on the edge of the cliff, just gave up. It got angry. It took my muscles, made them tense, and made me have to gasp for air.
    When the water finally eats me, I hope it eats me whole. I hope it takes all of my thoughts and all of the thoughts you thought for me. I am going to walk towards the river near my house. The river will eat me. I’m going to fill up my lungs with water and I’m going to feel the cold current under my soaked clothes. I will become part of the rocks; rocks that used to be people like me.