Some say I'm like a doll.
Porcelain and painted expertly.
Others say I am the water,
Flowing gracefully and bubbling happily.
Friends who know me tell me I am the wind,
Always moving along, singing my own song, and dancing to its rhythm.
As for me, I say I am a seashell.
Swirling, washed up on the shore of a crowded beach.
Lost and helpless until I'm found by a collector who'll give me the time of day.
If you hold me to your ear, I'll sing to you the tales of the ocean of my home.
If you toss me away, I'll bring the wrath of the sea against you.
Powerful, small, sweet, pretty, dangerous, confusing, laughing, singing.
That is how I see myself.
The ocean reflected in my eyes,
The seaweed tangling my locks,
Other shells are jealous,
Other shells are wary,
Other shells are not the same.
But it is just me, myself, and the seashell resting in my palm.
Silly ones and ther imaginary fears. Like a simple shell could do them harm.
I smile and skip the shell across the flat waters, sending it home, where I cannot go.