I’d rather drown in the open ocean,
the smothered sound of the albatros waiting
for my corpse to float back up
after shark jaws tear, and hagfish burrow away
taking, and taking, and taking.

I give, and give, and give.
Too much? Not enough?
Matter of perspective.
I’ve been compared to the Spring rain
that gives seedlings the inspiration to grow.
I’ve been thought of as an arid land
with not a drop of drink to give.
I’m soaked up and spit out.
I intake purity and poison
and cut away to let it all flow out.

I’d rather drown in the open ocean,
throat choked to keep from saying yes again,
people pleasing pushed down by the current,
jerking body to final stillness,
no longer worried about the world
water releasing, and I’m finally free.

Ubiquitous (read aloud)