i'm not comfortable in my skin.
this pale, itchy afghan that hangs awkwardly across my delicate bones
..those fairy-dusted branches..
like wispy drapes weighed down with ashes.
opal seashell stacks make staircases up my back.
inside their hollows, ghosts whisper, making waves with their lips.
maybe if you listen carefully, swollen breaths tight in your chests,
you may hear the ocean calling for its child.
the one with the pools of cracked ice;
almond skin ribbons; lobster claw lips; flushed cheeks; fish bones.
the one with waves under her surface; a hidden tsunami.
the one with wild dreams and a fluttering dolphin heart.