Passively Living, Barely Surviving

By Rhianna Mason

Rhianna Mason is a first-year Environmental Sciences major. She plays on the women's soccer team and is very passionate about environmental conservation. Most of her work is free-form poetry with a focus on nature and mental health. 

I want the waves to ravage me,

to pick my bones clean. 

And wipe away the defects,

to replace them with something more palatable. 

Bring me back to the beginning,

Bring me back to the formation of sea foam, 

Bring me back to the birth of the cell, surely

I cannot be damaged that early. 

My wishes will be unanswered.

Poseidon does not care for unruly girls. 

I will allow the broiling swell to tear me apart

and wrench my muscles from their holdings.

When my body washes ashore, none will mourn. 

No flowers will sit upon my watery grave. 

The world does not look on me kindly.

It does not caress my face,

It does not hold me when I am sick,

It does not quiet the raging behind my eyes.

I encourage you to rejoice in the purity of death.

Everyone you know dies. 

Everything dies at some point. 

Flowers wilt. 

Tides slacken. 

The body deteriorates. 

We are all headed toward the same path.

Though I wonder, is all of this stress

and anguish worth anything? 

What does it amount to?

Some days, when the defects 

weigh me down beyond mobility,

my bed becomes a casket and

there I wither, bones and all.

Some days, even the waves toss me aside,

for I am too unruly for the trident wielding god. 

How much of life is manmade structures

preparing themselves for rust? How much 

of life is preparing for death? We all

become obsolete. Nothing can 

last forever,

not truly, 

not really. 

What good is a life unspent?

What good is a life spent?

The ending is the same. 

Death is the only pure thing in this rotten world. 

Even the ravaging waves tend to agree.