Can we make this rollercoaster stop?
The motion sickness is too much.
Up and down and around again,
Out of control, out of prediction,
Out of my hands.
The feeling of bracing for a crash,
Unknowing of timing or impact,
Grabbing my heart, manipulating the swell and ebb of its trajectory.
I could jump off,
Endure one last horrifying lurch,
Then I could box this up once more,
Close the tabs, seal it, carefully ink the contents,
Place it gently in the recesses of the attic,
Never to be looked at again.
Or I could accept,
That the swell and screech,
Is what makes the moon glint over the ocean,
And the calm wash over my bones at the first light of the day.
