sharp justwrite

A beak pierces my finger and I realize I am the only one here who knows the beach is so much sharper than it seems, sea glass pressed against my throat, the same blue as the ocean and the arteries in my legs you can see behind my knees, bruised blue from kneeling. They think I pretend to pray, but I have a prayer for every grain of sand and they all sound the same. I want to be a jellyfish, deep red like the ones that float on the currents the ferry makes. I want to be a red jellyfish, not having to hide, anyone close enough to touch me knowing they will be stung, fearing me, remembering me. Instead I am a girl, freckled and pale and not quite untouched. Forgettable and easy to clutch. They stare at me and wonder how I'd taste, fear nothing but my voice which they doubt anyway. So do I. The crashing waves outside are louder than my screams. Each shoreline is different but the oceans are the same, water like tears, the places where my skin has torn stinging like I'm entangled in jellyfish. When I open my eyes, a seagull is piercing my finger with its beak. I pull my hand back and there is blood coming from a tiny hole, a cut so small I can not complain now that I'm grown. I walk into the breaking waves and wash it in their crests, salt mixing with blood, something familiar, stinging. I glance from ocean to sky and see nothing but the same sharp, unwavering blue.