The Conch and Me

I know what it is to be carried by waves,
to be tossed, turned, and left to harden.
Like this conch, I have weathered storms,
each crack a story, each ridge a lesson.

Once, I was held close—
needed, wanted, a shelter for love.
But time pulls like the tide,
taking pieces, leaving echoes.

Now, I sit still, like this shell,
a little rougher, a little wiser,
holding voices of the past inside me,
some I cherish, some I wish would fade.

Yet, even here, in this quiet place,
I am not empty.
Like the conch, I still sing—
softly, but strong enough
for those who care to listen.