I never thought drowning could be so peaceful. I look up at the sky as the water surrounds me and I can’t help but to think, this is what I’ve been waiting for. My heartbeat is steady even though I know it should be racing; my thoughts have disappeared and all I can feel is the empty space that should be filled with fear but it’s not. Even as my sea salt-soaked clothes stick to my body and the gentle waves wash over me I cannot help but stay calm. I feel nothing when I know I should feel something. Is this wrong? No, it can’t be for I am not panicking, I am not afraid even as I sink from the weights attached to my feet. I release one last breath before I am pulled to the bottom of the sea. And as I slowly descend, I let the sea surround me, I don’t try to swim or fight I just let it take me and as I begin to fade away from this sad life of mine, I have a thought, do I really want to die? Then it clicks and something in me awakens, I am no longer calm but afraid. I am afraid of the ocean surrounding me. Suddenly I am plagued with fear of departing from this world, but it is too late for me, it is too late I have already started to end, to fall apart. But it’s not, the once quiet voice screams in my head, it’s not too late! So, I begin to kick and swim and pry the weights off me with the little strength I have left, and I swim up until I see the morning sun. But when I resurface, I am no longer calm, I am shaking with fear, my heartbeat is fast, my lungs expand with every sharp intake of oxygen, and I laugh. For I am free of feeling calm, I am living and afraid.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Jacaria Woods and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Rain Man
Her mother told her to lock all the doors, close all the curtains, go to the basement, and stay quiet. Lisa thought it was because of the tornado but her mother was more afraid of the man in the night than any storm. As the rain poured down, the thunder made its big booming presence known. Lisa sat in the small corner of the dimly lit basement mindlessly scrolling through her phone, cursing the god's every time the internet went out; causing her Instagram feed to refresh. About an hour or so later, Lisa got bored, put down her phone picked up her book, and continued reading where she had left off in the storybook oh so long ago. Just as she seemed to be drifting off into the fantasy world of fictional characters and insane missions, she heard the back door open with that familiar "click" of the lock. Slowly, lifting her gaze up and away from the book, she furrowed her brow as her mind processed what she had heard, with a release of breath she hadn't realized she was holding, she called out for her mother but stopped mid-way through as she remembered her mother said to stay quiet and as she listened to the footsteps a sudden and terrifying realization hit her; that wasn't her mother walking and she had just made a noise.
By Jacaria Woods3 years ago in Horror
A Little Bit Of God
January 2026 I thought I’d spend the night in neon lights on grainy film but my brother is telling me how an eternity of hell is caused by prevalent peace, and who am I to disrupt such a thing? So I found myself in the same skin with the same sights, wondering whether or not I am one of those– do I feel peace? Do I expect more when it is gone? It being everything. We’re running out of time but the car is belching up something strange and we’ve got God in between our eyes nodding along to every apology and plea spoken for our friends and loved ones– they don’t know any better, they’ll come around eventually. He’s telling me about barbed wire guides around lives and ties and wives and lies and, look, the snow is starting to fall so I guess we better hang up soon. But it’s been too long. We’re building fields of skills and realms of distrust and these moments are only seen now, can no longer be read as words, only swept with eyes upon oil pastels or smudged charcoal. It’s a painting of an evening, like Daniel’s soles in Edgar Degas’ mind, but if anything is just it’s the lack of unrest in skin like His and lives like this– okay, so maybe five hours on the phone is a lot if you have a job and you’re trying to cook dinner, but only one of us falls into that gorge and only one of us believes in what lies beneath it. My brother tells me things that sit in my spirit like half an ounce of prospect and a squeeze of bourn, how he tells God to let me in: despite my sins, despite all the moons in between these calls, despite the burning in both of our throats. I do feel peace here. I also feel that my peace is a subpar window job, a pinky’s strength avoiding blizzards inside the bedsheets. I’d like to spend more nights like this, with contrasting disaster living between a speakerphone, and God finding some space in between.
By Olivia Dodge5 days ago in Poets
Affection and Healing for Yourself
During the night of the last quarter moon, I gathered my ritual supplies. I carefully handled the chunk of black tourmaline that would protect me from your overall negative and narcissistic energy. I carefully walked the house with my stick of selenite in hand, asking the universe to cleanse our working space.
By Alisha Wilkins ✒️🦋🖋️2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
A beautifully cathartic poem, to live is to live in spite of fear.