Letter to Myself

Mar 1, 2024 | 2024 Spring - Letters to Myself, Poetry

By Jacq Valencia

Beneath the sea
noises are muffled
movements, restrained
while you’ve floated below, treading water in wait
the pull has always been felt


your bones knew which way to rise
your eyes knew which way the light shines
your soul knew where it wanted to be

at once, you let go, gave
in to the natural step, allowed
the pull to take over and bring you in a single second

open air

You were not too loud, to let out the roar you’d held back.
You were not too bold, to say your name from your bare chest.
You are not too much, you are yourself.

Known to you
the people that will be lost were never yours
too will make itself known, from below, belching
the release will startle

you turn away, the wave comes from underneath to lift you
sky will fill your gaze
you’ll find your breath, the air’s
crispness felt in your belly,
sun warming skin

revel in the breeze
rebel in the day
grief blooming to relief

And while the hands of The Bitter grasp at you
like the kelp

you’ll be out of reach, out of the depths, out.

Jacq Valencia is a poet, creative, and mother living in Boston, Massachusetts.

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