Gerty

Sand on me and me oh my he can't see my secret I see him watching and then I see him sitting here with his leg cocked and just the tiny tilt of his head and then he sees the pink-shin of skin. When he sees me I feel sad with crying eyes because I think he will be another another, yes another, who will turn away and not see me for who I really am and well, when he gives me the respect of his eyes I think that I shall burst with joy and tears. In my heart I just think that he notices me and that he will perhaps walk away and never return but then he lays back on his shoulders, grey. The eyes, yes, you can see eyes. They are bright for a moment. Pickle-eyes. With wet ginger bottle spirit. White vinegar. I said to my ma that I could see the look sometimes but then they see the fault, the physical, damning fault and they walk away. Get off on the side view the soft view, the wide-angle view and don't take note of the physical. If I just show a bit of. That. Yes, that part is ok. And it holds you back and you cannot do the things that you want to do and the face is pretty but they say oh no when they see it all. The big eyes and the laughing smile and sometimes the glint of sparkle. But, even though they don't want to admit it, when they see the whole picture, they aren't wanting you anymore. I'll give him a glimpse. A glimpse, of sand-calves. And soft, white skin. And little dark patches. And rubies. And all the girl. He can see in there. He watches from the pebble-seat he has there. I am sideways, over the shoulder at you. In rock-pools I hide. Star-fish secrets, all by myself, always.