Sea Green

Short poem I wrote for a prompt, experimenting with stream of consciousness

I carried the ocean
         vision blocked by dew drops
Water rolling, waving around me
blurry figures
         frothy and mysterious
         -Don’t go under, they said-

Chipped nails like chipped paint on an old house
         repaint, but they’ll only chip again
And in the summer, my feet
pale slabs of ivory soap in a warm tub of green tea
         -Don’t go under, they said-

Drops of color spread like ink in a glass jar
made artistically in a dorm room sink
I’ll soon run out of paint
         chipped paint
because I use it deliriously in the middle of the night
on the leafy pages of a cheap journal
         that holds my life together
         (Don’t go under, they said)

And a box that carries everything and nothing
Open it:
         it smells like glue
a sticky black hole in my life
it swallows me and spits me out again
and the ocean whirls around my waist
         -Don’t go under, they said-
I did anyway.