Beach

I hate everything about the beach.

The sun blisters pale skin easier than promising to reapply sunscreen.

Sand seeps into places it shouldn't.

There are walloping waves

and treacherous tides

and rugged rocks.

Sharpened shells scrape skin and salt stings.

Some can enjoy divulging

into the dark, dangerous waters

accepting the side effect of wetness,

But I can't shake the sensation that

I am swimming in a solution of

salt water and dead skin cells.

I really hate the beach.

I could see the sun rise or sink and reflect off the water;

I could hear the waves crash onto the shore;

I could feel the grains of sand slip and shape;

I could smell the salt and minerals;

I could taste...

Nothing.

My mouth is dry

Because although I am surrounded by water,

I am dehydrated.

God, I hate the beach.

and piles of litter

and pointless conversations might improve the experience,

But for now

all I can focus on is

How much exposed skin

highlights insecurities,

How much the leftovers of a sand castle pose a threat,

How much I need to find a better way to be unhappy.

Yet so many poems and songs and pieces of art depict positive attributes of the ocean.

The problem is,

I can't see just the sea.

I think of sunken ships

and decomposing bodies

and the vastness of the unknown-- secrets the ocean hides.

I don't like not knowing things.

But I do know;

I hate the beach.

It sure is beautiful though...

Enticing,

And captivating,

And beautiful.