Describe Nearly Drowning

Bodies float alive on the Dead Sea.

The Atlantic is an opaque ocean of dead bodies,

and I’m gasping for breaths in between. Twenty three,

the therapist diagnosed me. And there’s pills for that, he said.

So I became an island nestled between salt

and a hard place. Western medicine dehydrates my faith

in humanity. I dream of being the Red Sea.

I dream of nearly drowning in the Great Barrier Reef.

I’m awake and alive in the Great Patriarchy.  

Pruned skin betrays my youth,

but I feel clean for a moment, nearly drowning in white ceramic.

I’m nearly choking on today’s climate:

The sun is a handsome white woman and she’ll kill us all.

The son is a politician in love with his mother.

I’m the Oedipal eyes; I float alive in formaldehyde.

I’m a black rainbow with a pot full of gun control.

I’m a therapist for the burning rain forest.

I’m an island of oil spills.

I’m an island of western pills. 

I’m a weapon of mass mediocrity.

I’m an opaque soul. I’m a twenty three,

nearly drowning, but not yet.

I’m nearly drowning, but not yet.

I’m nearly drowning, but not yet.

I’m nearly drowning, but not yet.