Ambitions are an  
ocean, the eager riptide  
ripping me from safety and into  
the vast unknown. You  
call it potential, I call  
it purgatory. The  
ebb and flow like your  
words, how they push and  
pull a jettisoned body. My world keeps  
shifting, and I have yet to make  
a move. Waves upon waves  
of guilt cast by your 
breath drag me  
out further still,  
but once the shore 
disappears from view, open  
water looks the same. Floundering  
hands outstretch toward distant  
skies as saltwater fills my  
lungs—all I did not cry— 
until I can struggle no  
more, spine cracked  
from the weight  
of your expectations 
and the selves I carry,  
the ones I should have become. 
Your ambitions are an ocean, 
and one day, I will  
drown.