Sam Page, Columnist • firstname.lastname@example.org
This is the story of me. Of who I am. And what I see when I catch a glimpse of my universe in the mirror. This is for the those who have been convinced by invaders that their lands were not free and beautiful. This is important.
My body. My body is an ocean. Waves churning in steady rhythm, boats dancing on my surface, on my body. Fish swimming in endless circles on purpose, and by accident, looking for a way out. Looking for a way in.
My body. My ocean. My sand castle on the shore, delicate with crystals and shells I’ve collected to beautify my shabby sand. My body, with the sand shifting always and my ever changing landscapes.
My body. My body is a shell. Closed tight and dark. Vast waters just beyond that I’ve convinced myself I’ll never see.
My body, my ocean, my castle, my shell, my everything.
My beauty, my darkness. My nothing. I never told him he could swim here. Never said he could bring his pail and shovel and lay on my sand. Never said he was worthy of planting his flag in my molehills and collecting my precious shells. He took a boat without permission. He took my beauty without permission. Turned my beautiful beaches into wastelands and why? Because he knew how? Because I was convenient? Because my beaches were close enough to invade? Because I was a friendly port?
Or was it just because he could?