Created when the tides were high,
when the moon was strong,
I rose out of the sea.
A blanket of white caps
taking my breath.
Emaciated,
I stumbled to shore,
fins washed away,
pink flooded my bone cheeks.
My hair started to change
with the seasons,
Autumn lingered,
in brilliant orange hues.
By one, Daddy has left me,
Blindly led into toxic suicide.
At two,
Silken fabric was comfort,
swaddling me like Mother,
from between my fingers.
I picked up my first pencil,
imagination pouring out like rivers,
onto mountains and valleys,
drawing the whole world,
on brisk paper.
Three, I first remember,
the great gray hairs,
on Grandpa's lip.
I handed him petals of purity,
a present in sweet hands.
He placed them in his old glassware.
When I was five, I found fear.
He was called the dark.
I remember hiding,
being grabbed at all over,
by strangling blackness.
I saw the dark with different eyes.
Kindergarten,
I kissed a boy I never met,
and rebelled against recess,
tried to be the good girl.
Fifth grade I was at the canopy,
but middle school
took me to a new habitat.
Powered faces pushed me around,
and boys were savages.
By eighth grade,
I had painted the Universe,
wrote stories of the stars,
and move up the chain.
Suddenly I was locked up,
shipped in a box,
and off into the wild.
Soon I arrived in a place called high school.
A storm hovered over,
I drowned in the rain,
everyday.
Mud sucked at my feet,
I was stuck looking down.
By junior year,
winds had stilled,
and I found the sun again.
At seventeen,
I went back to the sea.
Walking briskly along the sand,
towards the ocean.
Teal water lapped at my toes,
like thirsty dogs.
I trudged in,
I was pulled deeper,
waves grabbed me under,
held me in the curl
of their arms.
Made me breathe again,
the sweet liquid,
filled my emptiness,
and I returned from the sea,
with a new understanding of me,
an Aquarius.
when the moon was strong,
I rose out of the sea.
A blanket of white caps
taking my breath.
Emaciated,
I stumbled to shore,
fins washed away,
pink flooded my bone cheeks.
My hair started to change
with the seasons,
Autumn lingered,
in brilliant orange hues.
By one, Daddy has left me,
Blindly led into toxic suicide.
At two,
Silken fabric was comfort,
swaddling me like Mother,
from between my fingers.
I picked up my first pencil,
imagination pouring out like rivers,
onto mountains and valleys,
drawing the whole world,
on brisk paper.
Three, I first remember,
the great gray hairs,
on Grandpa's lip.
I handed him petals of purity,
a present in sweet hands.
He placed them in his old glassware.
When I was five, I found fear.
He was called the dark.
I remember hiding,
being grabbed at all over,
by strangling blackness.
I saw the dark with different eyes.
Kindergarten,
I kissed a boy I never met,
and rebelled against recess,
tried to be the good girl.
Fifth grade I was at the canopy,
but middle school
took me to a new habitat.
Powered faces pushed me around,
and boys were savages.
By eighth grade,
I had painted the Universe,
wrote stories of the stars,
and move up the chain.
Suddenly I was locked up,
shipped in a box,
and off into the wild.
Soon I arrived in a place called high school.
A storm hovered over,
I drowned in the rain,
everyday.
Mud sucked at my feet,
I was stuck looking down.
By junior year,
winds had stilled,
and I found the sun again.
At seventeen,
I went back to the sea.
Walking briskly along the sand,
towards the ocean.
Teal water lapped at my toes,
like thirsty dogs.
I trudged in,
I was pulled deeper,
waves grabbed me under,
held me in the curl
of their arms.
Made me breathe again,
the sweet liquid,
filled my emptiness,
and I returned from the sea,
with a new understanding of me,
an Aquarius.