I wouldn’t dare go near the water,
for I might sink to the depths of the ocean

floor. So heavy that I can’t even stand up
to walk. It’s almost down to my knees. I’m bowl

legged from the heaviness of
carrying it in places it shouldn’t go. It’s like

a ball and chain around my ankles
now. It restricts my movement. It confines me

to where I am. I don’t like where
I am. But here I am, until I am no more.