Sea Shells

I am a sea shell.

Laying on the beach.

The sand underneath me,

Is so soft and grainy.

The tide pulls me out into the great darkness of the sea,

Then flings me back to my original seat.

I love the color of me.

The pale, beige with a hint of pink.

I love the shape of me.

Deep ripples and curves.

I love the texture of me.

Smooth with a hint of sand.

I look around.

I notice my surroundings for the very first time.

Around me,

Thousands of other seashells around me.

Their bright, vibrant colors,

Brighter than mine...

Their rounded, flat shape,

Flatter than mine...

Their glossy, immaculate feel,

Smoother than mine...

I look down at me and am shocked.

I hate the color of me.

Splotchy pink with little color.

I hate the shape of me.

Not flat enough, too curved.

I hate the texture of me.

Too rough, not smooth enough.

Salty water runs down my form.

Not enough.

I feel a small hand lift me from my sandy seat.

Not enough.

After a brief inspection,

The child scoffs as she tosses me into the mouth of the sea.

I sink

Deeper, deeper.

Not enough.

Not enough.

Not enough.

We are enough.