the mermaid's voice returns in this one Read online

  - filed under: things i hate that i owe to you.

  you

  weren’t

  the first one

  to tell me

  they would

  kiss

  my scars

  so pretty,

  but

  you were

  certainly

  the first

  i believed.

  - now i know you can’t fix someone else.

  everything started to make sense once i learned that you don’t need to be caught underneath an ill-tempered wave in order to drown. i’m talking about how it feels when your fingers are twisted

  up in my long, blackwater hair, pulling just enough to hurt. pulling just enough for me to not want you to stop.

  - dry drowning.

  i don’t mean

  to frighten you,

  but i would

  seriously

  consider

  drinking

  the atlantic whole

  if only you

  asked me

  to.

  - what wouldn’t i do for you?

  i wish you had been my first love.

  i would have even settled for second love.

  - third is the worst best.

  shiny gold flecks coat the tips of my fingers the first time i place them onto your skin. bringing them to my lips, i cannot help but to think that it tastes like something not of this world. carelessly, i misplace the age-old fairy lore which warns humans like me never to eat or drink anything that seems too good to be real, lest you lose yourself too completely.

  - my midas.

  you’re

  the kind of

  intriguing

  that

  inspired

  thousand-page

  epics.

  - how many centuries have you lived?

  finding

  a way to fit

  into your

  sun-kissed

  arms

  was almost

  excruciatingly

  easy.

  - you were always my favorite wreck.

  each morning before school, my mother did not feed me breakfast. she fed me wisdom. first, she brushed my hair with a fork. soon after, braids fell to my waist as she kissed the top of my head, whispering against it, “now. don’t you dare lean out your window & let it all fall down. you never know who will show up & climbclimbclimb on up. heed my advice: even villains will go all dizzy & heart-eyed for you. do not ever become fooled by such trickery.”

  - mother knows best.

  II. the shipwreck

  “

  but the stars—

  they see

  everything & are

  loyal to no one.

  when she

  whispered

  her wishes

  into them,

  the voices from

  her nightmares

  came crashing

  down.

  problem

  is,

  some

  people

  are living,

  breathing

  I C E B E R G S

  just

  waiting

  for the

  perfect moment

  to pull you

  under.

  - titanic.

  swallowing

  the memories

  is like

  biting down

  on

  a mouthful

  of

  sea glass—

  the iron

  filling up

  my her

  throat

  is the

  only way

  she knows

  she’s still

  alive.

  - try as i may, i keep spitting you up.

  the first time you take me home & introduce me to your parents, your father takes one look at me & says, “that girl looks like she’s much too smart for her own good.”

  - why wasn’t i smart enough to stay away from you?

  a smile.

  irresistible lashes.

  a dark room.

  legs tangled.

  peace.

  - this is how i’d like to remember you.

  he

  told me

  he was

  fond

  of

  broken

  girls

  like me

  &

  i

  didn’t

  so much

  as

  blink

  an

  eye.

  later,

  i thought

  to

  myself,

  if only

  they had

  taught

  me

  how to

  recognize

  the warning

  flares

  instead

  of

  wasting

  their time

  teaching

  me

  how

  to

  mistake

  them

  for

  flattery.

  with

  his

  pocketknife,

  he

  sheared off

  my her hair

  while

  she slept

  curled

  as

  a quiet

  comma

  into

  his

  side,

  only

  for him

  to

  glue it

  all back

  to the ends

  so

  he could

  show her

  everything

  he could do

  to her

  &

  still

  manage

  to

  get away

  with it.

  - maleficent.

  he

  held

  her hand.

  he

  grabbed

  her breast.

  he

  turned

  off the light.

  he

  walked

  her to his bed.

  he

  laid

  her down.

  he

  tore

  her shirt.

  he

  told her

  he loved her.

  he

  shoved his

  tongue inside.

  he said

  he wanted

  to marry her.

  he

  placed his

  hand between.

  he

  kissed across

  her collarbone.

  he

  sobbed

  onto her cheeks.

  - he split my her tail in two.

  no matter

  how hard i

  scrub

  scrub

  scrub,

  you’re

  still

  everywhere

  i don’t

  want you

  to be.

  did she, in her last waking moments, forgive him, or was she secretly sending her curses to the gods who did not let the roof collapse on the notches of her beloved’s traitorous spine, even if it proved fatal for them both?

 
- desdemona.

  (homage to the play Othello by William Shakespeare)

  she’s come to the conclusion that they like her because she’s sad & even more so because she’s quiet. it’s a lethal combination that makes it impossible for her to tell them:

  - stop. / no. / don’t.

  i

  acquired

  a gift

  for living

  outside of

  myself

  whenever

  i needed

  to swim

  away

  from you.

  - mermaid escapist III.

  how he

  managed

  to choke

  me

  with

  both of his

  wrists

  roped

  together

  behind his

  back.

  - “i know you wanted it.”

  how she

  managed

  to choke

  me

  with

  both of her

  wrists

  vined

  together

  behind her

  back.

  - “but you didn’t say no, right?”

  the day

  i handed you

  my

  ever-glowing

  heart,

  i

  did not

  hand you

  anything

  else.

  - on being called a tease.

  you still watch me while i’m driving & i still pretend i don’t notice you watching. you still hold my hand & i still hold yours right back. you still tell me that you love me & i still tell you that i love you, too. we still kiss when we think no one else is watching, secretly hoping that they are. we even still go for hot coffee when it’s a hundred & two degrees outside. we pretend until our teeth disintegrate & our gums bleed from the effort it takes to smile it all away.

  - trying to keep my eyes on the road.

  what

  if

  he

  just

  does it

  to another

  girl?

  - this is why i can’t go.

  some days, i still want to believe we can traipse into the forest & come across an enchanted pocket watch that will take us back in time to erase it all & start from scratch.

  - this isn’t that kind of fairy tale.

  cages

  are

  still cages

  even

  when they’re

  designed

  to

  look

  just like

  castles.

  - illusionist.

  at

  this point,

  staying

  with you

  is nothing

  more

  than

  muscle

  memory.

  an

  apology

  has

  never

  known

  the walls

  of your

  mouth.

  - how can you just walk away?

  we

  put on

  a hell

  of a show,

  but

  the curtains—

  they

  cannot hide

  the history

  of you.

  - this cannot go on.

  &

  one day,

  you were

  nowhere

  to be found

  anymore.

  i swear,

  i ran to the edge

  of

  every cliff

  just to prove it

  to myself.

  it

  was as if

  the wind

  simply

  did

  away with you

  like it does

  with

  plastic

  shopping bags

  & remainders

  of autumn,

  sweeping

  you up

  like it

  didn’t just

  take

  away

  every

  last ounce

  of

  proof

  of

  what

  you did

  to me.

  - i wondered if you were a changeling, except someone forgot to replace you.

  some

  stories

  don’t have

  happy

  endings.

  some

  stories

  don’t have

  endings

  at all.

  ours didn’t.

  ours couldn’t.

  ours won’t.

  it was

  easier

  to

  pretend

  you died.

  it was

  easier

  to kill the

  sleeping

  prince.

  - i wrote my own ending in blood.

  give me lavender. give me valerian. give me warmed milk. give me the sound of every raindrop to ever slide down the side of the earth. yes, i will still have trouble falling asleep. because of you, i’ve never been able to see a bed as a place of rest—only unrest. even when my bones & my eyelids beg for sweet mercy, the second my head hits my pillow, something in the back of my mind will always be trying to remind me of those moments when i learned that sex & violence are not the same thing.

  - unsleeping beauty.

  you do not have

  a bed anymore;

  you only have

  a casket.

  - why do i find no relief in this?

  the heaviness of your hips

  never goes

  - phantom.

  he sort of

  looks like you,

  but i know he

  can’t be you—

  not unless

  dead men

  have learned

  to walk.

  he

  just has

  that long stride

  about him—

  that

  mischievous

  wide-eyed look

  about him—

  that

  laugh—

  my god, that apocalyptic

  laugh about him—

  & the family

  of cicadas

  nesting

  in my lungs

  cannot

  listen to

  logic

  or reason

  because

  when it

  comes

  to you,

  i’ve only

  ever had

  the chance

  to t.

  teach them h

  fight or g

  l i

  - f

  you stopped

  leaving bruises

  around my neck

  so i started

  leaving them

  everywhere

  else.

  - bookends & knuckles.

  every

  touch

  that comes

  in sequel to

  y o u r s

  feels like a

  grenade.

  - tick, tick, . . . boom!

 
i want

  to believe

  that

  most people

  mean no harm

  to others.

  that

  not everyone

  is capable

  of the

  same things

  you were.

  that

  someone can

  touch me

  & do it

  out of

  tenderness.

  - sometimes we have to feed ourselves lies just to live.

  will i have to spend the afterlife

  finding ways to hide from you?

  on the weekends, my mother used to drive my sister & me down to the beach, though she so rarely liked to get in & swim.

  instead, she would take each of our hands & lead us just a few shallow steps into the water—only up to our ankles. she would say to us, “stand still & wait for the next wave to roll in, then close your eyes. when it drifts back out, it will feel like it’s taking you along with it. don’t worry, though. i won’t let anything happen to you, my babies. it’s perfectly okay to let go.”

  sometimes, i want to be able to let go like that again, except for the part where i open my eyes & i’m disappointed to find that i haven’t been carried far, far, far away from here.

  - a mermaid escapist IV.

  mostly, i just want to know what it’s like to feel something between elation & despair, besides nothing at all.

  none of my

  favorite songs

  sound quite

  the same

  in your wake.

  where

  there was

  once

  a glorious

  orchestra,

  there’s

  nothing

  except doom

  & screeching

  violins.

  - kill the conductor.

  when you left this earth, you left behind someone who will always feel like they’re a body for the taking, first; a person, second. i used to want you to be wracked with guilt, but these days, i’d settle for you feeling even an ounce of it.

  - on the other side II.

  what’s

  the

  difference?

  - victim or survivor.

  &

  where

  do i stand?

  - victim or survivor II.

  i thought, then, of all the forgotten stories of those victim-survivors whose hips were bashed against the wall by the cruel ones until their skin rolled up&up&up like canvas

  &

  the woman who did not stop until their stories splattered across the skies, even while she struggled like hell to keep her own skin pinned down.

  once,

  i came to her in a dream & begged her to do the same for me as she did for them, only for her to take me by the shoulders & turn me the other way, saying,