Someone’s Hand

I’m standing still, quiet,

with my feet on the riverbed.

Someone’s hand placed,

firmly on top of my head.

They are conversing idly,

occasionally asking my thoughts.

My chest crushed by the pressure,

I crumble, I’m disregarded.

They’re having a picnic up there,

looking down at me.

They can’t see my struggle,

my longing to surface.

The sun is bright today,

it’s murky down here.

I don’t really know how,

or why I’m drowning.