Unanchored

An anchor, by definition, is a heavy object attached by rope or chain to keep a ship from moving — a weight that was supposed to keep me from drifting too far alone. A steady hand in the storm, a reminder that I was okay.

But along the way, the anchor became a trap — to bind and gag me in the cage of my own doing, unrelenting in the pursuit to be the perfect vessel.

Was it my fault? I let you hold me down when I was always supposed to move with the wind and waves. Not tangled in the suffocating silence, mistaking the control you offered for safety, indifference for love.

Being beaten under the storm alone while you held me still, unable to get to safety. My mind warring like the beating wind in my sails.

Cut. Cut. Cut the rope. Cut the anchor. Stay. Go. Move. Die…

The anchor, safe in its due diligence, perfect in the job it set for itself, is untarnished by the winds and rain. I break, crashing in on the current, hitting, snapping the rope, the chain.

I’m free…
I’m… free.

Free in my course with no anchor in its glory to hold me in one place free to move on, free to sail across the horizon to a place I will be alive.