Читать книгу it was never going to be okay - jaye simpson - Страница 8

call me sea glass: found after a dreamy hot day, beachside stomach full of fruit, skin kissed by the sun.

call me sea glass: smooth around the edges just the right amount of opaque, clear & cloudy.

call me sea glass: auntie loved it, had me framed in mosaic above her fireplace, wind chimes of me singing through coastal wind.

call me sea glass: because i once was sharp broken tossed in tumultuous tides thrashed on barnacle- & coral-clad rock, pitched on log after drunken sunset witnessed by shifting bonfire light.

they hardly ever remember

i used to cut.

they forget

that in order to love me:

i had to break, smashed apart.

i held poison, dripped venom on flesh, kissed on the lips straight out of the bottle. how often you find me smooth & soft after being torn through countless grains of trauma;

coping:

you like me only then.

only when i am smooth around the edges, when i am the perfect amount of opaque, when i am wound in copper laid upon your chest.

when i am wind chimes & picture frames & after i can no longer cut.

call me sea glass because you can only love me

when i’m broken & small & harmless.

call me sea glass found on the shore, foamy salt waves lapping at my edges, you find me:

beautiful.