Fractured Sail

Don’t tell me you want to go sailing again.
I am sick of the wind
(really, I am sick of my hair
and how the sea disagrees
with my conditioner).

Don’t think of me as a mermaid
(I am really washed up?)
ready to fall in love with
the first sailor I see,
all crisp blue and shining white,
tailored to navy standards
and lacking any real military experience.

Don’t think I won’t fight you
and hoist the ropes away from your grip,
turn the mainstay around
(I’m seen it in the movies, I know how)
and find my over little desert island
to cry on.

I’m not crying. I’m just blue.
Don’t think of me
as like you.