She was like sea glass, tumbled from time

the kind who held onto dead yellow roses
like they still had life

the kind that would save broken things
to create mosaics....but she never had the chance
because when she was ready to,
they clipped her wings

The kind who could hear her very own heart
in the rhythm
of the sea
Grief is the much too detrimental storm
you learn to live beneath

She said love felt like a seashell
beautiful
but hollow if you listened too long

As a child,
she held up the big seashells to her ear
and really believed in her heart of hearts
it was the ocean
whispering just to her.

She’d close her eyes,
feel the tide inside her scoliosis pained ribs
she felt the ancient
the beauty of belief

She believed in sirens too
not the dangerous kind,
but the lonely ones
singing not to lure
but to be heard
See,
what she was believing in
was her.

And one day at 33,
she picked up a shell again
years older,
heart much more
damaged
Held it to her ear
she still hears the waters
but now its more of a bay.
its dying

Oh, how she knows
Sea Glass
is a dangerous thing to allow yourself to be