I remember the first time I saw the ocean,
I was amazed at the sea before me
that shrunk me down and made me feel small.
My parents taught me to always dream big,
but as the waves struck the shoreline
I couldn’t help but feel swallowed whole.

The grains of sand beneath my feet
carried me to the ocean floor.
And no matter how hard I tried,
I could never swim fast enough to meet the surface.

I taught myself how to hold my breath
on the floor of the Challenger Deep,
because my parents told me that I could always climb back up.

I became familiar with shipwrecks and anchors,
so I made my home between broken masts and torn sails,
and strapped weights to my ankles
to accept my defeat.
Because the water was too deep,
and my hands too small
to conquer land and sea.

Eventually the tide pushed out
and I washed up,
with seaweed tangled in my hair
and the taste of saltwater on my tongue. 
And I found myself at peace
at the point where both worlds touch.