They say she's all that you need
Gold grains stretch from corner to corner
Blue smiles and sunny glow.
They say I need her. So I think I need her.
I am greeted by her warm embrace
We build our sandcastles up to the stars
Collecting shells and placing them upon our topaz palaces
Our very own fortress
But I'm locked out.
And the defenders have begun their attack
The whelks are being fired. Cuts. Rips.
I sit in my shell with a chip on my shoulder
Salty tears and bitter as vinegar
I wonder...
Did she ever care about me?
She said "I love your eyes!" because they faced her direction
"I love your hair!" because I was hers to push and twist and snap
"I love your hands!" because they were hers to use to control and inscript
Hers to build her castle and her throne.
I still shiver when I think of those hideous memories.
The burning glow.
A blue snicker at my embarrassment.
Strangling me but the spectators only see a hug
The more I caved in, the more she spread out.
Taking the space I hadn't used.
And no matter how hard I try
to wash to my arms and legs
filter the fibres of all my towels
Those small yellow grains are still everywhere.
They'll tell you about the wonders of the beach
but never about the sand that always stays behind.
YOU ARE READING
The Quiet Club
PoetryThe extrovert ideal - The omnipresent belief that the ideal self is gregarious, alpha and comfortable in the spotlight. But how can you be those things if you're not wired to do so? Take a look through the eyes of those deemed "quiet" or "shy" as th...
