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#this is kind of a revamp of a few old vent poems i wrote years ago
rowan-ashtree · 6 months
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the sea and the lighthouse
an ode to myself, and to people like me
cw: violence (somewhat graphic), death mention, vague references to religion.
I felt like I was drowning in a sea of confusion, and I worried it was because I didn’t have the faith to walk on the surface.
I know now that this was not the case. My confusion turned to anger when I grabbed a buoy and saw people staring. Who were they to watch me sputter and splash and place bets on my survival?
They were the ones who would plunge knives into my chest and praise my pain tolerance (because I barely flinched anymore), then scoff at my faithlessness when I refused to sacrifice myself on the sealing room altar.
They were the ones who would weave nooses around my neck, made from indifference and empty words, then whisper of my weakness when I cut myself loose, seeking woven things of warmth instead.
They were the ones who would condemn violence (with my blood on their hands and the bodies of my siblings hanging above them) (without any trace of irony or even regret).
Who am I that I should be left to drown, fearing all the while that it’s my own fault?
I was the one who would take the blades they used to hurt me, and carve my identity, my entire self, out of the bare rocks of abandonment. Then, I would carve my own altar, and offer up the blunted and bloodied knives as a sacrifice.
I was the one who would weave bandages to cover my wounds, and blankets to keep myself warm, and shrouds for those they refused to bury.
I was the one who would learn to swim in my own confusion, and even relish it, so that I could be the buoy for the next person they would seek to drown.
The sea could not snuff out my candle, so they gave me bushel after bushel and called it a kindness. For a while, I merely set them aside. Now, I set them ablaze and add them to the lighthouse beacon that my candle has become.
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