My life’s tide rolls
and tugs at the sand
along the shoreline.

Cold hands grasp
gritty grains and beg
to be the same-
but salty tears mingle
and drift towards the sky.

As assimilation slips through my fingers
that are too frail to keep hold
against the jagged rocks
of societal expectations,
jutting up through the waves.

Gulls cry
mournful lullabies,
as another body falls
into the watery depths of conformity.

I stick out my tongue
to lap up the sorrow
but choke-
as grey air fill my lungs,
because I am not the same.

But sometimes the sea of unison stands still.
Like the time I was stranded
on the sand at Oregon.
Because the tide danced out
and I chased after it in ripped
jeans and a West Coast tee,

and when the tide raged back
I was stuck-
on my mound of isolated sand

while
the tide stood,
unwilling to bend.

I looked down at the waters of individuality
tickling my toes,
with the eager anticipation of being
swallowed-