Sailing These Uncharted Waters

Always have been staring at the edge of the water like Moana

Sometimes when I stare into the sun I see a younger version of me.

She tilts her head, gasps for air, and scans the room hopelessly.

“Is anybody there?” she cries, “I’m trapped in this ship’s prison, why won’t He help me!”

“He doesn’t care,” I whisper, “Nor do I. Directing my course has kept me too busy.”

And I turned to leave, but the distress in her eyes keeps me staring.

For a second, I just can’t help but caring.

About the girl who has long faded into a distant memory,

One filled with ignorance, indifference, and overwhelming vanity.

“Please,” she pleads, “Will you please stop trying to forget?

I know your eyes hurt, but these waters have a lot left unsaid.

I can’t see you, but I feel you. I can’t hear you, but I know you.

You have nothing to prove. Your obsession with drowning me will be the death of you.”

And at that, I looked back incredulous that she knew.

I had isolated her to my vessel’s pits, yet she knew a secret known by few.

So I loosened her chains and finally let her out to breathe.

And till that conversation, I had forgotten how much she looked like me.

Of a smaller stature and a more turbulent nature I watched her go

Choke up the the shame and pain, fatalities I had incurred when suffocating my foe.

But when our eyes met, I remain surprised in the similarity I found,

A thirst for their remembrance quenched with enough dreams of martyrdom to go around.

“This ship…,” she sighs, “You seem to think it is a different one than the one that left the dock.

Is that why you thought it was so easy to get rid of me with only a lock?

Creating this dichotomy won’t suddenly make you enough.

For a centuries dead pirate who compromised your identity and drained your heart of its love.”

“This ship,” I claim, “is fundamentally different now that an intellectual is running it.

With my passion it’s fueled and with my perseverance it’s essentially lit.

The sum of its parts forever different, no longer the neurotic abnormality

But instead a state of the art vessel, you can bow in its ferocity.

“This ship,” she yells, “was composed of slow changes evidently!

It’s goals of persistence and diligence keep it true to its identity.

The movements show it have both but you claim it to be run by thoughts and not feelings.

The lack of a sudden change means it will always be stuck treading and never commanding.”

“But without this ship,” I scream, “I am the nothing that only they could see!

I can’t fall prey to 7 billion sirens in an abyss of mindless conformity and inevitable mediocrity!

I took control by achieving a herculean feat to change the tides and redirect my path

Through the defeat of my lethargy and stupidity by becoming a polymath.”

“Like Angelica, you’ll never be satisfied,” she painfully notes as tears stream down both our faces.

But if you never accept me, this war will leave you with not one but two casket cases.

So for once in your life, can you accept your striking individuality,

Made up of sometimes one and sometimes two beautiful ladies.

With my heart and your mind, together we can sail these uncharted waters into the Age of Self Discovery.

At last finding light in a sun’s misery on this ship of Theseus, on this ship of you and me.”