Every weekend, I take boys to the beach.
At midnight he grabs his keys and drives me to the most serene, yet rocky beach.
The water feels warm, but it makes my touch cold.
I get wet from playful splashing, we were laughing, but I was holding back my feelings.
Not really ready to dive in. Not touching, not even loving,
Just enjoying his time and the gas he spent.
Just for me.

Another week passes, another piece of magic.
Before college and the knowledge I had,
Before I knew what was about to happen:
I'm nearly **** in a two-piece. Pulling and tugging at my assets, Glancing and once more, laughing at our conversations filled with flirting.
Not knowing what I'm wanting.
Second guessing my flaunting.
I'm a siren singing a song of tragedy.
Luring these boys who want to fix me.
He held me close, and didn't want to let go.
His lips touched my neck, my back, my shoulder, but I didn't roll over.
He still held me near for warmth on this cold, cold, sandy beach.

On my last breath, on my last note, I closed my eyes for a time and I just wanted to go.
I was done with love and searching for closure in the ocean’s moisture.
I was done with making promises, hearing them say they love all of this; I was especially done with the lies that they practiced, behind their eyes there was no reflection.
Now all these boys want the ocean.

And that much I notice.

I am a siren and I sing my song until I can no longer breathe oxygen.
That is when the ocean swallows my sorrow for a while when I follow them.
The boys line up, and I catch feelings for one.
He understands my song.
He sang it once.
Drove two hours just to find where it was coming from.

And on that same beach, different waves pushed and pulled that night.
Smiles lit up the dark sky, and we laughed and kissed under the moon’s tide.
Yes, I am a siren.
I am a hypocrite.
I sing to my heart's content, till it's tired, worn out, and I become irritated.
But my love comes from within.
No matter how dark it is, the lighthouse is in him.

When I wonder in to the abyss
of my thoughts, swallowing me
in reflections that are like tar..

That poignant light of your
voice, lingering on my horizon.
Leads me back to safer shores.

You are the beacon shining,
you are the fire illuminating me,
you are my lighthouse on the shore.

Rampant raging waters clashed,
Breaking waves on rocks supporting
The withstanding lighthouse stage
To its keeper’s disappearance.

Swallowed
By the inclement ocean wetting
Brittany and its last vessel guiding
Beacon.

It is easy – easier – to imagine that at the first stirring of the breeze,
Everything ought to be thrown to the wind. The tides are going out
But does that mean that everything on the shore will be swept away?

When I feel the gurgle of the waves on my feet, is it feasible that
God does not intend for me to be drowned? I stand in a pool of possibility:
Root myself deeper in the sand, or surrender myself to the sea. I think

My mother worries about me, 300 miles away, because in our
Distance she senses dissonance. I am the rock face bruised by the wind –
But only because I want to be. She is the lighthouse entreating me to come in

Off the water’s edge, and join her where it is safe and light and where she can
Train her gaze on me in all my darkest days. Am I tempted? Her unblinking eye
Implores me to be honest. How far must I cast my beams for you to find me?

The spray of salt reaches my side before I can answer, and brine beats Light in this race. Storms come and go, and I watch them and hope
For the sake of my mother that when I cry, it goes unheard under
The squall. The wind and waves, unrelenting, ground me in humility.

After all, when a sea-weary sailor spots a lighthouse, does his hand
Quiver on the tiller to change his course, or does the quiet thrilling thought of home
Encompass him, comfort him, call him to stay steady ahead!

We steer clear of the lighthouse: we keep our eyes level,
Our emotions at bay, and clew our sails for the cliff,
A brooding entity rising out of the ocean, recalcitrant: resistant.

My mother keeps my flame burning from another state.
Tender stoking, stalwart tending. I stand tall not because
I know she sees me, but because I can see her doing the same,

Daring the sea to stifle her laugh, her light.

I was the light house gauging the trouble
crashing on the green seas beneath my
window. Rough seas, vocal waves of
perpetual ship wrecks..

I would gaze upon the shoreline
of my view, looking for any trouble
that could wash ashore. Momentary
riptides of hormonal adolescence gained.

What could take a life, a single moment of
not watching the shore. So I shone my  
gaze upon another's abandoned hopes,
leading them from the rocks of anguish..

That day I was the lighthouse of reality,
when below waves were gathering.
I was a light in moments of disarray,
But on that day no one washed ashore.

Little girl and red shoes
tiny feet tapped up my spirals of stairs
She twirled through my watch room
I was happy
She visited everyday to have tea with me
To her, I was a castle, a classroom, a secret hideaway
She pressed her body, open armed, into my stone
I wish I had the arms to hug her back

I saw her grow
She’d visit me less
But still came to talk to me
I was happy
I saw first kisses
I saw heartbreak
I saw her grow up

I saw her get married
That night, they danced through my tower
I embraced them in warm light
I wish I had the voice to sing them music to sway to

I saw her grow old
She still came to change my light
Even though the ships never visited the shore anymore
I was happy

She was always in my tower now
Folding paper
more and more
Piling up at the corners of my room
He had to make her leave and go to sleep at night
thousands thousands thousands of gifts from her
I was happy

Feet tap up my spirals of stairs
It’s been so long
My light is dimming and it needs to be changed
Don’t go just yet
Stay a while
Dance and twirl through my tower once more
Let me embrace you in the soft light
The moon looks beautiful
Where are you going?

Please remember me
Why don’t you remember me?
No one will change my light
And you’ll just feed trees that will be used to make paper which will be returned to the paper you left on my stairwell

She visited with him
I wish I had the mouth to smile at her
He helped her change my light
And I was happy
It was the last time I felt her feet on my stairs
But I was happy

When I'm stranded,
You guide me.

When I'm confused,
You affirm me.

When I fear that I've lost you,
You suddenly reappear.

When I make it out,
I pray you don't disappear.

The swells might burden me,
But you drive me to overcome.

As I enter the calm waters,
I see the lighthouse.

You're there.