i like to put myself in the shoes
of people who don't exist
in order to feel things through their hands
and see things through their eyes
to know what the earth feels under their feet
and to know what pain—
all pleasurable and tragic,
all heart-wrenching,
all that gushes blood and sweat that drips down to be swallowed by the sun—
is like
in a metaphorical sense
that's how i learn.

Crashing waves against the crunch of sand
Touches my feet
Sinking into the softness beneath me
As the water stains my toes blue
And paints goosebumps
Paints chills
Across my legs
Up to my stomach
Full of the same crashing waves
Those which curl
And spin in whirlpools
Up to my chest
Into my lungs full of seasalt
And the bitterness of the morning sun
Down every branching vein
That reminds me of mangrove roots
Yet pale and blue
So small and delicate
It reaches my own shaking fingers
And to the rosiness of my cheeks
All I hear is the soft ringing of windchimes in my ears
And the splash that dissipates into nothing but tiny droplets
Maybe that’s what keeps me awake at night.

my words
might wash up
against your shore
in torn up shreds
each scribbled letter faded
obscured by time
obscured by rippling waves
that thrash and tear
each piece left vague
dowsed in mystery
and a lingering
a longing
to be read

soon
maybe
next time
i'll be mature enough
to put them in a bottle.