I swim in my head, a bowl too small.
I turn and turn, my spine grows curved,
to echo the walls that lead nowhere.
I swim faster to try to hasten
the process and find the way out.
I will speedrun discomfort.
The space constricts to compensate.
I despair. How can I help anyone,
how can I save anyone else
if I can’t even save myself?
Bereft of direction, I stall.
Without design, I rest
and wake to the answer:
then I will have to save myself.
The walls in my head begin to bloom.