oceans, swollen grey and blue with the tide,
crash powerful against the mountains of stone
and there never was so much foam inside
of me, as when I learned to breathe on my own.
and it’s slightly strange, and slightly sad to contemplate,
how breathing is an art we rarely find the time to learn,
constant rush and push against our lungs, savage heart rate-
I ran and ran, willed meaning into the beauty of the burn.
But try- try it once-
walking alone at the side of the cliff, footsteps slow and soft on the pavement,
and no sound but the sound of you- so much of you exists-
and let in- and out- and in- and out-give your soul to air, all you took and all you spent-
and it’s harder than you’d think, because, the wind sits on your lips-
and never will you be as conscious of the entire weight of you and your unique way of breathing,
as when you break open your chest, and welcome in the world, and all the stars bow their head, grieving-
all that was, and all that never will be…
is yours to own, and yours to free.