Paper Boat

I am a paper boat in the Pacific
the sea stretches for miles in every direction
and even when the sea is calm it seems like
there has only ever been ocean
there will only ever be ocean
the earth, so green and steady,
is nothing more than a dog-eared dream
and the sea is never calm
rough winds roil the surface into waves
while the deeps are troubled
by angry currents of hyper-saline water
I was not built to be an ocean-going vessel
and what things of value
could I possibly carry?
I am only a paper boat in the Pacific
so what difference will it make
if, with the next wave, I am lost?


*quick note: I am fine, this is just an angsty little poem I wrote a few days after Easter. this pandemic is really, really wearing on me.

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