Swimming through the milky mere, I found a seashell;
Pearl to my eyes and silk to my fingertips,
It effortlessly drew away the odious clouds I had been submerged in.
My core inhaled a fresh, iced shot.
A pinch of song which played in my system,
A tinge of cyan which ran through my blood.
One simple seashell, manufacturing the meaning of sanctity whilst releasing all tension of mind.
Both you and I had forgotten I was in a lake to begin with.
With one pulse and one crash,
The seashell vanished with the waves,
Locked back into the milky mere.
I guess I focused too much on the beauty
And not enough on the fact that it was actually in my hands.
Perhaps I should be more grateful to have held it at all,
To have seen it is already more than a blessing, yet
I would rather it be in my palms than in my imagination.
I still go back to those dirty waters,
Canoe the perimeter of the shore.
I no longer desire to bring home the shell but rather share with it one more brief moment-
If only I held on a little tighter,
Or did I hold on too tight?
Either way, I recently realized something.
While I wish against this,
Attempt to pray away its reality,
I know that others can see the shell's beauty too.
And I know there will always be the possibility
That someone else brought it home instead.
Let's not speak of Venus.
Shapeshifted into a tiny pea,
Situated at the back of my tongue,
And while I cannot swallow it,
It tempts me,
And I choke.
So when I have the chance to expectorate, I do.
The pea glides off my tongue and inflates
Into the planet it once was; Venus.
This soon develops into a polysyllabic frenzy
Comprised of several tongue movements I cannot control,
A release which travels down a track
Prayed to one day be a lucid ride.
Thrown into hysteria,
My mouth which marks euphoria,
This state of mind lasts only until I realize
Is not earth.
And I do not live in its arms.
So let this pea create habitat at the back of my tongue
Let it lounge, let it dangle, and let me choke.
While I'm not sure when,
I hope that one day,
Its grip will grow loose,
And I will be able to swallow
About the Author:
Joelle Viray, a 16-year-old high school student, is entering her senior year at an arts specialized school located in the city of Toronto. She has always held a passion for writing, photography, and playing the piano.