There is something about people like me. The broken. With our crushed hearts and shattered minds, we quiver in pain. Your fingers tangle through the threads that keep us together; which one will you pull next? The red or the bleeding?
In the twilight we shroud the masks like shedding skin. We, the broken. We scream. Holding out our hands to those of you who broke us. Hoping one of you will hold out a hand. Hoping one of you will hold us till it’s ok.
As a child I learnt how to swim. And the cool ripples of the sea baptised me. She held me in her watery arms, whispering of all the tears ever cried. Whispering of things bigger; greater than me. And so the sea held me like the child I was, teaching me of emotions. Teaching me of things so much more than me.
I grew. The sea became the ocean. Still she whispered to me. Telling me of hope, dreams and the power of the moon kiss. Telling me how even she bowed to greater things. Still she held me like the child I was, and she taught me strength. How to hold my head up on my own and breath for me.
Yet again I grew. This time she did not grow. Rather I became to see, she was both mother sea and mother ocean. She told me of life. Of memory. Of fear. She held me and whispered her love to me. How she hoped I was strong enough to cry for her, for all things bigger than me. How she hoped I was strong enough to hope, to dream. Then she held me once more like the child I was, and she cried for me.
Abandoned by all who clamed their love for me; once more I fled to the sea. She remained unchanged, untouched by all but the moon kiss. And she held me, but no longer was I a child. She wept for me; mother sea and taught me of life as I sunk down through her inky black waters.
The children of the sea; unloved by all but me. Mother to us all is she. The kind, killing sea.
I am broken: and so are we. Deep down in the depths, drowned in mother sea.
This is about, and I suppose for all, those children who have to grow up too fast for whatever reason.
Sometimes we seek comfort where others least expect it.
Inspired by a collection of short stories called the book of the beach.