no teeth justwrite

I want to be a sharp-toothed creature who will leave you bleeding and scared if you touch me again. Instead I am a timid child who bows her head, cringes at your voice against her skin, watches your fingers pass through her. I want to believe there are flames wild in my center, a fire fueled by any thought of you, but there is only wet sand in my core, cold, heavy, immobile. You pick me up in six large hands and pack me into molds, form me into what you want then wait for the waves to take me away. There is a reason the whole ocean tastes like tears. I want to be a tidal wave, to cover you so fast you don't know I'm coming until you already can't breathe. I want to leave you wet and naked, alone and afraid, surprised that you are toothless after all. I forget that teeth can not pierce water, that any sharp edges I grow might cut nothing but my own gums. In my memories, you are solid, too solid, like marble pillars, easy to shatter. But my fists have no bones and my fingers are filled with prayers so soft they are hardly words. My dreams are laced with the mothers, sisters, daughters, and wives I don't want you to have. In my dreams, they have teeth, sharp teeth hidden within bowed heads, ready to get stuck in your hands when you try to pass through them. In my dreams, they leave you wet, alone, naked, and afraid, then they turn to me, blood on their lips, on the tips of their fingers, and ask me how I let this happen. Suddenly they are bruised skin, sad eyes, and all I taste is salt. Each of their faces is a round bruise on my chest, my thighs, my wrists. I see their cheeks in my curves, their hairlines resting in the shadows between my toes. I hope that soon I'll find their teeth.