the mermaid's voice returns in this one Read online

  the princess saves herself in this one (#1)

  the witch doesn’t burn in this one (#2)

  the mermaid’s voice returns in this one (#3)

  slay those dragons: a journal for writing your

  own story

  ***

  the

  things that h(a)unt

  duology:

  to make monsters out of girls (#1)

  ***

  [dis]connected: poems & stories of connection

  and otherwise

  for the little bookmad girl.

  thank you for deciding to

  live long enough

  to see yourself

  write a book.

  then another.

  then another.

  then another.

  trigger warning

  this book

  contains

  sensitive material

  relating to:

  child abuse,

  gun violence,

  intimate partner abuse,

  sexual assault,

  eating disorders,

  self-harm,

  suicide,

  alcohol,

  trauma,

  death,

  violence,

  fire,

  & possibly

  more.

  remember

  to practice self-care

  before, during, & after

  reading.

  contents

  I.the sky

  II.the shipwreck

  III.the song

  IV.the surviving

  When I think of The Little Mermaid, there are two narratives that come to mind: the dark and twisted fairy tale penned by Hans Christian Andersen and the nostalgic Disney rendition from my childhood. In this gorgeous collection of poetry, amanda lovelace has brought these two alternate worlds seamlessly together. The mermaid gets her voice back, and she does so with a vengeance.

  As a writer, the words you put down on paper are synonymous with your voice. There was a time in my life when I stopped writing. For years, I ignored my words. I’d lost my voice. I’d lost myself.

  But the world works in mysterious ways. It yearns to remind you of your place and purpose.

  At first, this reminder will appear as a gentle tap on your shoulder. But if you don’t pay attention, it will come in the most brutal fashion.

  And that is what happened to me. My life stopped. My world came crashing down. And when there was nothing left, my words came back to me. My voice came back. And with that voice, I rebuilt my life, from the ground up.

  Now, years later, I am proud to join amanda and a collective of fresh voices, some of whom you will meet in this book. We come from all over the world, refusing to settle for the narrative that has been written for us time and time again. We are writing our own alternate endings. This is our time. This is our revolution. Pick up a pen and join us.

  xo Lang

  warning I:

  this is not

  a mermaid’s tail tale.

  there is no

  sea-maiden.

  there is no

  sea-sky.

  there are no

  sea-stars.

  there is no

  sea-song.

  what there is,

  however,

  is the story

  of how

  they tried

  to quiet her

  & how her screams

  dismantled

  the moon.

  warning II:

  only mending

  ahead.

  swan song I

  i’m dousing

  my fire.

  i’m dropping

  my sword.

  i’m melting

  my crown.

  i’m destroying

  my castle

  & then i’m

  hurling it

  straight

  into that

  perilous

  sea.

  all

  this time,

  i thought

  myself

  a motherfucking

  queen,

  &

  only now

  am i

  realizing

  that it was

  all make-believe.

  swan song II

  i have a

  terrible habit

  of writing

  myself

  braver than

  i’ll ever be,

  & i’m not sure

  which of us

  i’m trying

  to convince—

  you, or

  me.

  you are

  the chapter

  i didn’t

  know

  if i should

  tell

  for the fear

  that i would

  someway,

  somehow

  write you

  back into

  the current

  chapter

  of

  my story.

  in one of our many worlds existed a girl who couldn’t handle how very sad & confusing life could be, so she approached one of her many overstuffed bookshelves, got up on her tippy-toes, & pleaded to the dozens of warped & well-loved spines, “i want nothing more in this world than to be one of you.” miraculously, the books listened. they more than listened. from that day on, they took her in & raised her as one of their own. each night while she was supposed to be sleeping, the girl’s new family scribbled her into fairy tales about princesses & witches & even her favorite fantastical creature: mermaids.

  in a distant land . . .

  I. the sky

  “

  after the

  unimaginable

  happened,

  the mermaid

  left the

  dried up sea

  of

  her planet

  & rode

  a shooting star

  straight into

  the sky.

  door

  sealed.

  television

  off.

  curtains

  closed.

  hammering

  heart.

  creaking

  bed.

  tear-filled

  silence.

  years

  shattered.

  - a little girl played hide & seek in the wrong place.

  how he

  managed

  to choke

  me

  with

  both of his

  wrists

  ribboned

  together

  behind his

  back.

  - “do not say a word.”

  there

  was

  nothing

  i

  could

  have

  done.

  there

  was

  no one

  i

  could

  have

  told.

  - a pebble i cannot get down.

  what felt like

  hours of

/>   begging

  & screaming

  &

  crying

  & shouting

  “don’t you love me?”

  was

  wiped clean

  with

  a single word

  from your

  mouth.

  by

  some miracle,

  you

  convinced

  my

  mother

  that

  it was okay

  if i took

  my bike out

  into

  the rain

  &

  rode

  to

  my heart’s

  content—

  because

  if

  anyone

  could be

  trusted

  to

  turn back

  from

  danger,

  it was

  me,

  - wasn’t it?

  it

  should

  be safe

  for little girls

  to ride their

  little yellow

  bikes

  around

  the block

  without

  someone

  ending up

  in

  handcuffs.

  - wanted.

  “call me dad,”

  he would tell me.

  i wanted

  so badly

  to tell him

  “no”

  because

  i already had one

  & he could

  never hope

  to measure

  up.

  - you weren’t family by blood or the family i chose.

  when

  i cannot

  cope

  i

  erase

  it

  instead.

  - not a printing error.

  star light,

  star bright,

  first star

  i see tonight;

  i wish i may,

  i wish i might

  flee my skin

  for but a night.

  - bibliophile.

  “i wish i could be her friend,”

  the girl whispers

  down into the

  tear-stained pages,

  lovingly caressing

  the gold-dipped edges.

  “no—i’d rather be her.”

  - ariel.

  “i wish i could be her friend,”

  the fictional girl echoes back.

  she reaches up,

  her hand falling back

  down to her side when

  she realizes her mistake.

  “no—i’d rather be her.”

  - ariel II.

  &

  that’s

  how

  the girl

  learned

  how to love

  but only ever

  from a great

  distance.

  sometimes

  she cannot

  tell the

  difference

  between

  the days

  she’s walked

  this earth

  as herself

  &

  the days

  she’s walked

  through paragraphs

  as someone else.

  - no one noticed & she liked it that way.

  do you

  ever

  find

  yourself

  nostalgic

  for

  the life

  you never

  got to

  have?

  - (because i do.)

  do you

  ever

  find

  yourself

  nostalgic

  for

  the person

  you never

  got to

  be?

  - (because i do II.)

  whenever

  you need

  a healthy

  dose

  of serenity,

  crawl

  through

  the frosted

  windowpane

  of her mind.

  blades

  of grass grow

  in shades

  of

  paradise.

  opals

  droop from

  branches

  instead of

  leaves.

  rivers

  flow with

  undiluted

  rosebud

  water.

  milk&honey

  falls from

  the clouds

  instead of

  rain.

  even the

  absolutely

  unthinkable

  happens

  here:

  children

  learn peacefully,

  unafraid of

  angry hands

  around guns.

  - hooks encrusted in sand.

  though

  i tend to believe

  poppies

  probably

  speak

  in secret,

  i’m under

  no illusion

  that

  you will ever

  read

  this poem

  or

  any other.

  (you

  lie still

  beneath

  the headstone

  i placed my

  lipstick palm on.)

  still,

  i cannot rest

  until

  i write

  these

  words

  down

  for you:

  i’m

  nobody.

  i’m

  nobody, too.

  - called back.

  (homage to the poem “I’m Nobody! Who are you?”

  by Emily Dickinson)

  when i tell you i’m still waiting for my hogwarts letter, what i mean to say is i never meant to be here for so long.

  - forever wandering lost & wandless.

  “maybe

  i’m not

  the book you

  dog-ear &

  keep with you

  always,”

  the girl

  murmured,

  pulling her

  sleeves

  over her

  hands.

  “maybe

  i’m the book

  you forget

  to bookmark

  & leave

  on the train.”

  - shrinking violets like us.

  can’t

  a prince

  a princess

  a n y o n e

  just

  come along

  & gaze

  upon me

  with such

  adoration

  it’s

  as if i’m

  the gem

  of the deep,

  not the rubble

  of pompeii?

  - when will it be my turn?

  in

  search

  of someone

  who

  made
/>
  her feel like

  she belonged

  in this

  world,

  she

  went on

  countless

  journeys

  expeditions

  voyages.

  - it was always the girl through the looking glass.

  she didn’t kiss frogs.

  she kissed great white sharks.

  i find that

  losing

  yourself

  in love letters

  & white lies

  & time differences

  & dropped signals

  is

  always easier

  than

  venturing out

  into

  the unpredictable

  - wild.

  the prince

  of her dreams

  was sipping

  on an

  old-fashioned

  while

  she popped

  lotus

  blossoms

  into her mouth.

  neither

  of them felt

  their vices

  were quite

  doing the trick,

  so

  they left

  them

  behind

  & ran away.

  it

  didn’t matter

  where

  they

  ended up,

  so long as

  it was away.

  so long as

  it was

  together.

  happenstance

  /'ha-pǝn-stans/

  noun

  1: he & i.

  2: me, falling down those treetop

  eyes.

  - who was i before you?

  “i ought to let you know—

  i find my prince

  every year,”

  - i said.

  “then

  this year—

  this year will be all mine,”

  - he replied, unfazed.

  the

  very minute

  he

  realized

  he

  could

  wrap

  his fingers

  around

  my wrists

  with

  space left

  &

  fill in

  the dips

  between

  my

  hipbones

  with

  handfuls

  of

  stones

  &

  seashells,

  he

  made

  for

  damn sure

  my

  plate was

  always

  overflowing.