I am too big.  I lumber – my synthetic bones, polypropylene flesh, my sinews of twine and net, the spores of my toxic breath.  For all my bulk I’m doomed to keep floating.  Can’t go deep, can’t rise up.  My eyes, dark with the sadness of seals, ache with my own redundancy, this endless cacophony of bottles and lids, the indignity of nappies and striped straws.  Because I am everything anyone has ever thrown away, I am nothing.  An accident, an innocent.  The abused become the abuser.  But my polystyrene heart isn’t in it.  Like any child, I want to grow up, go my own way.  I long to be free.  No, I don’t want to stay on the surface of things.  I want to dive among corals or walk in woodland, unencumbered, jump, climb trees, forage for mushrooms.  What I really need is to be seen and met with love.  Wouldn’t that help me change?  Even change shadow-boxes with change.  I’m craving the chance to shift shape and be kin, know kindness, share all I remember about water with the people who made me.  Please can I touch you.