running through my fingers
are the books I've read
so many words I've heard
sometimes they wash up on the shore
if I'm lucky there are special moments
like sea-worn glass they keep their colour
the first time I met a princess
and the first time I kissed her
when the wrong wind blows
there is sand in my eyes
the grains that never seem to smooth
the playground moment of "we can't play with you"
a teen confession "you're disgusting"
looking down and seeing new shadows
the smell and sight of not quite blood
I blink them away and look to the sea
reclaiming the land the tide has taken
I'm not building a house
I am the island