I was already underwater
when they told me to put it on.
the scuba suit, the mask
the too heavy oxygen tank and
cumbersome hose–
but I was already drowning.
underwater world, everything
a strange tint, too still, too
thick, like moving through goop
limbs
heavy
lungs like banded bird wings
flightless
while everyone else can breathe
just fine
yet I can’t
get enough
can’t force
the little air in
through all this pressure
on my chest.
they look at me
disapprovingly.
‘just put it on,’ they say
‘get yourself under
control, you’ll feel better.’
they’ll feel better.
but it’s the world that’s wrong.
no suit will change that.
but I wrestle it in place and it’s
oh so claustrophobic but
my skin feels a little thicker–
‘I did it,’ I say, looking at them
underwater breathers
ignoring the world
‘you happy now?’
but they bang on the glass
leaving fingerprints
‘let us in, let us in!’ they cry.
I pull back, now afraid
they’ll break it, and I’ll lose
the little air I have
wrestled into steel-trap lungs–
‘I can’t,’ I say.
‘don’t you know? you
should know–
I can’t.’
– 11/10