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Victoria

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

1 poem·Since May 2013
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The Shore

May 31, 2013
I washed up on the shore of shame. My skin rubbed bare and raw. The waves forced me forward. Only one thing I saw. The sand stretched on for miles No paradise to this damned place. Crawl through this, Or else turn back, And face the shore of shame. It stung like hellfire And stuck to raw skin like a fitted dress. There was no easy way through this. No shortcuts through this mess. Uninhabited was this island. No savage with skin rubbed bare. No elder for which to guide me. No village to show me care. Onwards did I travel. And something strange I did see. The sand abruptly ended And everything was green. I basked in the green glory And I bathed in a nearby spring. Every grain of sand fell. My skin left new and clean. The shame was now forgotten. The waves were now serene. But I was left with this feeling- A new shore waits for me.
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