Ocean Soul
The ocean is my mother. No two organisms produced me, just the soul of the waves and kelp and fish. I bleed saltwater for blood, and my hair is a mane of seagrass and algae. As the ocean changes I change. When I am in the cold ocean, I become blubberous like a whale. In the warm waters, I become a rainbow of coral and tropical fish.
Today my skin is the grey of death and plastic. My hair has turned a slimy brown. The fish that once decorated me with their presence have died. Instead I am decorated with drifting plastic bags and trash. I drift with the plastic and pretend to be inanimate. I stay like that for a while, tired like the ocean. With the ocean eventually, I stop needing to pretend.