I was born out of rage,
seismic waves of emotions
disturbing the peace,
shaking the Earth as they move through it. 

Black waters with stories
buried beneath seabeds–there I lay; the sunken places,
a tunnel to the parts of me
left to drown, deemed unworthy. 

Wrapping my body with their seaweed fingers while the depth of darkness becomes my friend, this mysterious place, somehow, felt safe. 

Is it because my ancestors' bodies are the seabeds?