Floaters (a poem)

“Floaters”

I tilt my head toward the ache of heaven,

the blue so wide it feels like I could bleed into it,

and there they are again,

tiny, luminous ghosts,

drifting across the vault of my sight

like silver minnows trapped behind glass.

They are my white blood cells,

the body’s quiet soldiers,

but I see them as glitter,

confetti spilled by God’s trembling hand,

proof that something still fights for me,

even when I’m too tired to lift a prayer.

They swim through my vision

like the remnants of stars I swallowed as a child,

back when I thought every shimmer was a promise,

every sparkle, a reason to stay.

Now, the sky drifts the orbit in static,

and I can’t tell where the light ends

and my own blood begins.

They dance,

slow, aimless, desperate,

like the thoughts that never leave my head.

They are both beautiful and terrifying:

a reminder that I am alive,

that I am fragile,

that I am still burning beneath the surface.

And yet,

for a moment, I let myself believe

that I am watching galaxies form,

that these are not cells but constellations,

that the shimmer I see is holy,

and my pain, just another kind of light.

The sky and I share the same bloodstream.

I blink, and the glitter scatters,

a thousand tiny truths swimming

through the liquid of my sight,

and I think,

maybe this is what it means

to survive:

to find beauty

in the debris of your own body.

-AubsThePoet

Oct 24, 2025