I was meant for more.
Teetering on the edge of grief and hope,
brushing tears from cold cheeks.
“I wasn’t a problem, I was only 12,”
whispering under heavy breaths,
repeating like a frantic clock.
Another wave taking out my feet.
I was meant for more.
Swallowing water in a dark sea.
Forcing my arms not to swim.
“you’re drowning wrong,“
echoes from the crowded shore.
How could I have expected applause,
for doing exactly what they asked?
Selected by Raymond Huffman
