the ocean is a girl: the girl is drowning
My mother said to me, once: we do not cry for the ocean.
And I told her, well maybe I do, defiant and
hesitant only when she spoke back.
the ocean will not repay you, it feels no debt.
So I told her, I give willingly
as she looked into the sea,
I asked her the difference, between me giving and the ocean taking,
lips blue as the water
we bathed ourselves in–
our bodies torn between grief
I watched her carve out my heart
from my chest, laughing as she buried it
in the sand. The drips running off pale hands
red red red–
The ocean still too much of a blue
& sand still too white
for all this red.
Each creation too hungry to acknowledge my sacrifice.
My mother said: you suffer for the ocean.
Said, the ocean does not suffer for you.
& we watched as the sand covered my blood with no trail left to follow,
burying my heart within its waters. All of it still
failing to portray my loss.
I said: there is not enough blood in the water to contrast the bruises lining my chest.
Said, this is not enough of a payment for my scars.
My mother nodded, watched
as the waves took & I stared as the sand hid.
I told her, i don’t think i will ever be cleansed of this.
And she smiled and said,
no. we never are.
MARY SIMS is an 18-year- old aspiring poet and writer. She can be found either reading and writing, exploring antique shops with friends, or having tea and chatting with her family. She is currently working towards earning her degree in English, and spends her days dreaming of writing beloved poetry and living in the mountains with her friends and family close
Find her on twitter: @rhymesofblue