Shells

Surreal is the only word, however overused, that I can think of that can adequately describe my sense of being. Here I was, walking on the beach belonging to Florida's coast, my footsteps slightly slower than this boy I watched grow up. He's nearing thirteen which sounds incredulous to me. His mother comments on how along with this approaching age also comes a somewhat cantankerous attitude. Her choice of words remind me of a species of crab crawling out of its shell ever so slightly before returning to its dark home. In all seriousness we can see this boy being one of the most courteous, family conscious teenagers this side of the Mississippi.
I look down at my feet, the sand runs in and out between my toes and the waves lick my calves. Broken pieces of shell cover the ground like a mosaic. I look above me a ways and see the pieces make a design. At the very beginning of the beach they are whole shells, this subsides into large pieces which eventually breakdown into tiny pieces almost but not quite resembling sand. Once you are able to wade in the ocean, the shells are whole again. I pick one up.
It is my mother's shell. It isn't as whole and perfect as I wish it could be, but it belongs to her. While wet, the black, grey and white seem to mix perfectly into a marble. I smile as I grasp the shell in my palm. I glance at the sun which is not quite ready to make its rapid descent. I have time. I climb up the sand towards the full shells and smile at the boy as he runs a little too far into the ocean. There! I see it, it is such a strangely shaped shell, certainly not one that would be sold in a shop. It has rounded spikes colored coral and purple, white masking the rest. 'Werf' is the word that passes through my mind when I pick it up and it is Afsaneh's.
I glance up and breathe in the semi-salty air. I am almost positive that I am one of tens of thousands of people who have made the comparison, but holding these shells in my hand I cannot help but think that they resemble people. They are washed ashore as whole shells and gradually break down and return to the ocean. Each shell is an individual,though you might see several clam shells they are all different.
This thought ran rampant in my mind and I saw a blindingly white shell, perfection. That is what I want to grace her life, its been a difficult several months, so this shell is hers.
I knew that I could walk forever on this beach naming a shell for every person in my life but I stopped. My name was being called, my attention drawn to the sunset. Our eyes darted over the horizon wondering if the dolphins remembered their cue of the falling sun. I turned to his father, speechless for several breaths. His smile rippled into laughter at my obvious excitement of this moment. I know I am hooked. Hooked on this feeling of ecstasy and ease that took me over from my limbs to my soul. I feel if I stayed here long enough that I could find the whole meaning of life in that ocean.

The Answer to the Question that Hasn't Been Asked

sitting on a ledge
legs swinging to tap out the beat
of confusion and pain
and I see you on the other
side of this chasm
back turned towards me
though this is nothing to do with me
wish I could finish this bridge that we started
but the pieces we valued seem to fall through
and break
my mind gets worse, most every sentence broken down
rearranged before understood
I'm exhausted from this circus of thought
but I will gladly shoulder any speech you would hand me
Arm stretches out,
trying to help you
wanting you to know how endlessly I love you
Its always autumn that causes the fall
know this and treasure our summer
but like the 1950's husband
you leave me in my home
mind only on business
I take the dishes and throw them off my ledge
watch them fall
wonder when they'll shatter

they say it comes in three
so i wait, my heart bumping into my ribs
with the horrid anticipation
the eye is captivated when it rains
how a single rain drop joining the lake
affects everything
movement awakening each molecule to the newness
and the weight in my heart feels as if it could drown me
because I realize that just as a drop adds to the depth
and beauty of the water
eventually another will evaporate, return from where it came
the first shocked me with ferocity
and my careless hands burned against the heat of the pain
it is the sinless that never drop
my body seizes itself in the memory
and I wait for the rise of the call
I sit, watch the flower that had begun to uncurl its clasped petals
hour after moment pass
find myself wishing I was more numb than I am
the idea of twelve hours runs rampant in my mind
the amount one can accomplish in that gasp of time
how insufficient a timeline that is
and I stagger back into the mysterious grief
that is not my own
a messenger of joy comes in three
at least, that's what he warned me
were I stronger would I not deplore the loss so?
or would my heart be lost if it didn't grieve
and you already know that you ascended with love all around you
you beautiful stranger to this world
grow in the mysteries of that world
and we will pray

Explanation

What is it that is defitionaly categorized as guilt or blame
In those moments that are snowballing into hours and days
I crave no explanation as my soul seems to cradle the situation
for the mystery of what it is
Only afterwards does my overly analytical self seek absolution
from actions my senses are almost positive are not crimes
and yet those analyzing warps of time like to trace over the
many lines of so many different paths that entered the realm of my possibilities
and I fall into bed with a mind running around in confusion
this is however, everything you are afraid to ask for
no dress-up or practicing of parts needed
no assembly required only a natural sense of being
A glaringly obvious parallel situation to another
I will continue to build up the sand castles knowing full well
their fragile state and not worry about the mess

Guess what guess what guess what!!!

Melon learned how to drive a stick shift!!
It was crazy fun...my new friend jon taught me on his car. how brave! After my first classes we are going back out to practice, this time in a bigger parking lot. I'm excited! Everyone else...you have been warned...

I'm falling faster than I ever remember having before
can't help to think how foolish since I don't know what I'm landing on.
Momentarily wish for the familiar childhood phrase "falling into cotton candy"
to once again be reality
And I think of my childhood and every moment leading up to right now
there are mistakes I have made that lay heavy around me like chains
Though words say "Let no excessive self criticism or any feelings of inadequacy,
inability or experience hinder you or cause you to be afraid." I drown in the weight of my deeds
Others seemingly have no qualms reminding me to wear these chains of pain
What we view as practical seems silly and constrained to me
I dream of transporting myself to an age where jolly ranchers make dreams come true
But in my actuality of being, I instead make wishes on bent pop tops and hard to open film canisters
I get nervous, flustered, discouraged and find a right to feel this in actions that now lie rotting
in forgotten fields
My mind reels at the statement I am refusing to make with my hiccuping words
For a battle that has barely started my body feels unjustly worn and frayed
Quick heart! Fight for yourself and I and wonder where we will land

so what if im a girl?

Sew up your lips,
I'm coming around the corner
Play the man everyone falls into trust with
Be the friend who never fails to say hello
who holds your hand after a bad day
warn me who is about to hurt me for all the wrong reasons
tell me you would never have me decorate your apartment
waste over a year of my time
sailing on a ship built with rotting lies
And then it all rips up
I'm not the girl who puts herself on that shelf
Should have known sooner
Listened to my list of stereotypes
You could've fought harder
to be a man worth knowing
Couldn't you have tried harder
to live up to the words you spoke?
And I feel just a little too numb
the question floats to my mind
what does my gender have to do with simply being a friend?