Have you ever gone to the beach?
 
It was probably really fun, wasn’t it?
You probably packed a picnic.
You probably listened to really cool music in the car on the way there.
You probably had a cute bikini that looked really good on you.
You probably loved how wavy your hair got from the salt water.
You probably smiled at the thought of sand under your toes.
You probably related your nap on the beach to the most relaxing experience of your entire life.
 
I went to the beach once.
 
My picnic? It attracted bees. I went home with three stings.
My music only worked on the way there because my phone was too sandy to use the buttons afterwards.
I had a really cute new bikini, but I didn’t take my swim cover off the whole time I was there because… other people.
My wavy hair was really awesome until I couldn’t brush through it for three days after.
I smiled when the sand was between my toes but didn’t like when it got in… other places.
My nap on the beach lasted an hour and was glorious. But I forgot to put on sunscreen. I couldn’t sleep for three days afterwards because of the blisters.
 
 
After my oceanfront experience, I have no idea why beach and bitch are different words. In my heart, they mean the exact same thing.
 
Bitches are usually attractive and look like they are having so much fun.
Beaches are the number one travel destination since probably 157 A.D.
 
But once you experience them more, you are left in disappointment.
 
Life is a beach. Bitch, I meant bitch.
 
This perspective has influenced my way of thinking, which has allowed me to create my own identity as a person and writer. Part of me wishes I had really professional pieces on this portfolio, but most of me knows that the most accurate reflection of both the reasons why I write and how I do it are best reflected in the style I have presented. Try not to drown in the words.