By the ocean | by Caroline Smith

Let’s talk about how I let them touch me because I thought that is what this body of mine was for. How I was broken into at eighteen and did not call it that until long after. How no one really knows of it. Not even the hands of the man who did it. Can you call him a man if he is hardly a human being? Especially at home. No one knows there. This is how winter and all its bundles and greys became home for me. Layer me up, never strip me down, keep me far from the ocean. I claim it was a past life, this fear I have of water. I could hear it when he held me, shifted me, threw me. Crashing, dipping, swelling, pulling. The ocean is not as powerful as we humans like to think.



Caroline was born in the DC/Baltimore area and now lives in Boulder, Colorado where she is studying psychology and creative writing at the University of Colorado. If you show up at Caroline’s apartment door with roses, vintage belts (she needs new ones, desperately), fresh picked lavender, or a steaming cup of coffee, she will gladly invite you in. If it’s a Sunday, expect chamomile pancakes to be provided.

Twitter: @_caresmith