Breathe In Holier Than Thou, Filter It Through My Gills

Being pulled deeper into the eternally cool and dark

Layers of a river is terrifying at first.

When you realize that you're drowning

You panic.

But once you accept that the hydraulic that's pulling you under

Is older than the buildings

That you're used to switching your brain into

Robot Mode

For.

Is older than your mom, your dad,

Your grand parents, or great grand parents.

Then the beautiful navy blue

Will surround you like the first hug you ever remember receiving.

And that seems like a beautiful thing to me,

A spirit forged from water being pulled deep into the depth.

A naiad finally returning home.

What's so wrong with hands clasping ankles?

If I am a naiad then do I have anything to fear in the water?

Yes those hands that pull me give me an initial shock,

But what's attached to prying fingers?

Clenched palms

Twisted wrists

Flexed arms

Rounded shoulders

Lean necks

Soft faces

Gentle souls.

I get to know each of the seraphic children.

I know them each by name,

Their dreams, their wants,

Their deepest, darkest secrets.

What's so wrong with inching ivy?

If I am a naiad then that makes me the cousin of the dryad,

Who's owed a favor by the ampelus.

These vines have no intention of leaving

A scratchy rash in their wake.

They do not mean to hold me inches below

The waves breaks,

Like ball and chain.

Tantalizing oxygen hanging above my head,

Like the worlds' reddest apple.

All they do is grow with the intent

Of reaching the never before seen sun.

And God are they excited,

Just like a little kid going to the movies for the first time.

So please, don't blame these living ropes

For doing the only thing that they know how to do.

What's so wrong with fish hooks?

If I'm a naiad then shouldn't I be able to handle a small piece of metal?

I would take a new hole to the foot

If it means that no fish or turtles or mermaids

Get flippers of fins stuck.

They don't ask to be wrapped around

Sunk sailors' skulls,

Anchoring rocks girths,

Death filled bodies.

I'm not scared of the entangling figures

That pull me into the

Creeping forever that's been assured

To me by a book filled with thin pages,

Men wearing black robes and stoles,

Holier-than-thou water.

I've accepted the

Beautiful Chaos

Of drowning

To help others.