the way a chest caves, collapses in on
itself. loses gravity as internal pressure peaks,
drops
with energy lost, the way a conductor
slices his baton through air
cutting sound. silence
falls and I am a rag doll
sinking lower towards the depths
with nothing to call for a lifeline
other than muffled cries bubbling
to the surface, mere foam
in the wake of a storm
one day I will learn to breathe under
water. carve gills into my skin. tear flaps
beneath my ears. what doesn’t kill me
passes salty oceans through my lungs.
the trenches here run deep
darkness greets me like a friend
to survive is to adapt
to adapt is to evolve
Justine Wang
Justine Wang is a queer Asian American writer committed to exploring themes of identity, feelings of loss, and retrospective regret. She is currently studying for her MA in Licensed Professional Clinical Counseling at University of San Francisco. She can be found on twitter at @jstnewng.
Artwork: Yuumei
Website: https://www.yuumeiart.com/
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