I'm a poet but don't know it.

I found this poem I wrote a long time ago, in an old purse I was going through. I'm not sure if it's really a POEM per say. I mean, it doesn't even rhyme or anything ;) ....So sit back and imagine that you're at a poetry reading in some dark coffee house...You're sitting in a big bean bag chair and I'm wearing a black beret.....

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I am drowning. I don't even know how I got out of the boat. Was I pushed? Did I fall? Or did I climb out on my own? All I know, is that I am in the water and I am drowning. I can see the surface where I want to be. Spiritually,as a mother, and a wife. But no matter how hard I try to swim, I keep sinking. I am tired. I wonder if there would be peace in giving into the pull. Peace in  relaxing and letting the water take me wherever it goes. But I'll keep kicking. Keep fighting toward the surface. Towards the light. And I'll keep waiting. Waiting for that hand to reach through to me. Keep waiting for the moment when he will pull me back up into the warm sunlight. Back into the boat. Back facing the lighthouse.

*At this point you would all gently snap your gloved fingers in applause*