Belle Terre

Belle Terre 

The sea air not subtlety sneaking into my nostrils 

The chlorophyll ready to wraps their arms around my entire body again 

The sailboat green paint feels different 

But still comforting 

If these walls could talk they would be a page turner 

Memories scattered all over it

She could use a touch up 

But I do not want to do that to her

Covering up my adolescence  

My truths 

Migrating over to the salty shore 

My rocky blanket; always here

She is not the most comfortable blanket to wrap myself in, physically 

But she is alway the most comfortable one, emotionally 

Hermit crab shells and dried up seaweed just do it for me

Belle Terre 

French for Beauty Full Out 

And she is 

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