the immovable lighthouse

in the beginning, the surrounding seas were dark.
and i was the immovable lighthouse.
no pain, all gain— i confused ignorant bliss for a loving embrace.

my lantern, overwhelmed. quickly, light metamorphosed fire. 
my surroundings ablaze, my eyes were forced open.
when i confronted reality, i leapt out my tower into the sea. and drowned.

“stop treading! stop navigating!” the waters demanded.
choking on saltwater, i gave into their orders.
and quickly found myself lost at sea.

i drowned every night for six years.

when six years had spent, i rose to the surface.
six years underwater— i was a sailor returning home to devastation and isolation.
my comrades forgot me.

but in the loneliness, in the darkness I long neglected, came a resolve I had never imagined.
i explored the dustiest, darkest corners of my mind and conquered every fear.

what is there to fear when you’ve already survived a drowning?

i slathered my guts on a table and rearranged them into a charcuterie board.

i no longer write this piece as a sailor hiding in her lighthouse.