the mermaid's voice returns in this one Read online

  mermaids

  cried

  out to her then,

  ‘DON’T BE AFRAID

  TO SING.

  BELT IT OUT.

  YOUR VOICE

  COULD SINK SPACESHIPS.’

  when

  you’ve walked

  on

  daggers

  your

  entire life,

  you don’t

  even know

  how

  to trust

  the softness

  of

  sand

  between

  your toes.

  - but you need to try anyway.

  I say I want your fingers

  in my mouth

  I say I want your fingers

  in my hair

  I say I want the violent

  slide of your tongue

  like a blade across my throat

  You say

  haven’t you done this before?

  Hasn’t he touched you

  like this before?

  Girl, don’t you know

  it’s not supposed to hurt?

  I press my mouth

  to the wound

  Until it

  disappears

  I say

  I know

  I know

  Do you?

  Do you?

  - blade.

  by caitlyn siehl

  you have been known

  to get cut by

  your own hand

  & others’.

  you have been known

  to pry the scabs open,

  bleed them

  out.

  you have been known

  to rub them in

  with dirt &

  grime.

  yesterday,

  they were

  angry scarlet

  gashes.

  today,

  they are

  quietly fading

  hairlines.

  tomorrow,

  tomorrow—

  - you’ll just have to wait around & see.

  I need you to know

  I loved him enough

  to lie to everyone who knew me

  about how bad it got.

  I need you to know

  there is still a bullet

  lodged between my ribs

  in the shape of his holy mouth.

  I need you to know

  the night the neighbors saw

  what they did, when I took

  back my voice

  finally found the strength

  to call him a monster,

  I woke up the next morning

  and I did not feel brave.

  I woke up feeling

  like the love of my life

  is a monster

  which is the opposite of triumph.

  Which is the whole world

  Dropped. Clattering

  across the hardwood floor.

  We talk about survival

  like it’s a thing that makes you

  stronger.

  Like it is a lesson learned.

  As if it does not steal your truth

  fashion it into a killing machine.

  As if a thing that does not kill you

  makes you more than a person

  who is not killed.

  But I remember

  I remember everything.

  I was a bird before this.

  Now,

  a graveyard

  of the unburied.

  My healing is ugly.

  My edges cracked and uninspiring.

  But still, they are my edges.

  Still, I am healing.

  Isn’t that itself a song?

  A chorus of rage and gentle

  worthy of a dance.

  Say Survivor.

  Say it with its whole

  unbearable weight.

  and say it again.

  and say amen.

  Say amen.

  - notes on the term survivor.

  by clementine von radics

  like you were nothing more than an overgrown wildflower field, this foul world took a hatchet to you. painted your petals in shades of grey when they were always supposed to be in blaring neon. collected your sunflowers & tulips in bouquets with the roots hanging down, dripping away with the thing that once held them together at the root. shoved them in your face & had the nerve to act as though they were a gift to bestow, not a thing for you to mourn. be comforted by the knowledge that the wind already blew your seeds away to be planted as far as the eye can see.

  - there always exists more than one opportunity for you to grow.

  trauma didn’t change you all at once

  it carved slowly every day

  like rivers do

  it was patient while it hollowed you out

  so it’s a sculptor or it’s a knife

  you take your pain and you other it

  you give it a new name

  and a new face

  you say this might have helped shape me

  but it is not a part of me

  you say i meant to break open

  to make room for stars

  - untitled.

  by trista mateer

  little alice may have done a freefall through all of time & space, but that doesn’t mean you have to jump off the bridge after her. sometimes the best thing you can do for yourself is to let the past remain in the past. darling, shhh—it was never as pretty as you like to pretend it was. it’s time you give your present a fair chance. after all, it’s never once given up on you.

  - don’t touch the stones.

  healing is a journey.

  sometimes the type

  you jump into the

  ocean and swim

  across for.

  maybe your journey to

  healing doesn’t have

  to be like a fire where

  you burn yourself at

  the stake and drag

  your feet through

  hot coals, skinning

  yourself bare for

  everyone to see.

  let the waves of

  self-reflection

  take you in.

  wade in your honesty,

  your strength, your

  b r a v e r y .

  we survived our abuse,

  now swim.

  - wading.

  by gretchen gomez

  someone mistreats you again & you reply the same way you always do (“oh, it’s alright. i’m used to it by now.”) before looking down at your shoes. it’s there that i will write an invisible reminder to you: don’t ever take anyone’s bullshit. if they treat you as anything less than royalty, then show them exactly what a mermaid-witch-queen like yourself can accomplish.

  - slay those dragons II.

  i. i still search the sky for clues that could lead me back to you, but i promise that the days of concentrated star-gazing are long gone. in their place lie mornings where i look to my feet and the earth beneath them, how they sink into the soil. the comfort of my roots helps me believe that healing is not just around the corner, it is happening with every breath to depart my blessed body.

  ii. my low days are frequent and stubborn, but eventually, my eyes will stop burning. they will transform from red to gleaming, hungry for the very things you could never offer. that is when i will remember who i am and what i have outgrown. your confines were destined to suffocate me at one point or another. all i have to do is discover
the courage to punch through its low ceilings and narrow corridors.

  iii. when our blazing empire fell, i held a funeral for the ash. believe me, you did not disappear unnoticed. battles were fought howling your name. with every sword unsheathed, i expected to hear your voice persuading me to return. but i let a moment pass. (on the worst days, i had to let several moments pass.) when silence settles in, peace follows. when i am aware of peace, i remind myself to stay focused. i must transcend you.

  iv. i am coming to terms with the way your grasp pulls me in and returns me to a path upon which we once walked together. i am also learning to accept that, while you will always sprint for the ocean, i will forever remain an earth sign.

  - earth / water.

  by noor shirazie

  the

  beloved

  will

  always fall.

  they’re

  the world’s

  darling,

  glittery things

  until

  someone

  strolls

  up to them

  &

  tells them

  they

  no longer are.

  - alas, your scraped knees will always mend.

  you are so much more

  than the rippling fallacies

  your reflection whispers to you.

  those demons that lurk beneath the surface

  do not know you

  even though they pretend to.

  and someday,

  though it feels impossible,

  you will see yourself as i do.

  when time has finally finished healing your scars,

  your siren call will scream “I AM GOOD ENOUGH!”

  and even your bewitching smile will shine through.

  but until that day, the day you are okay,

  just keep singing yourself to sleep,

  and eventually your monsters will stop haunting you.

  - trust me.

  by jenna clare

  you are sad now.

  you are not sad forever.

  there are no paved roads

  to healing.

  you must build one

  brick by brick.

  there will be backtracks

  before breakthroughs but—

  you must collapse

  into yourself

  before rebuilding.

  you must unearth

  every wound

  before learning

  the power of salt.

  you will build

  that yellow brick road—

  in your own time and

  on your own terms.

  - the grit of healing.

  by ky robinson

  nearly an entire year goes by where you’re puddle jumping & thinking, well, i suppose it could be much worse than this, & then suddenly it’s hurricane season from june through november. some years, it’s all downpour. some years, it’s all drizzle. others, there’s not even a single drop. there’s no telling what’s in store for you, or when you’ll feel like you must pack up your crown & stick it underneath your bed, waiting patiently for the day when you believe you’re worthy of adorning it.

  - rare as those days can be, they do always come.

  the last time you were asked for forgiveness,

  you had the same dream every night.

  no, not a dream, a nightmare,

  a warning, a sound in your chest,

  your mouth opening to a word, no

  I know. I can’t listen to the Beach Boys

  without thinking of all the girls they sang to,

  & her bubblegum-pink lipstick print

  on someone else’s mirror, or face.

  maybe the difference between remembering

  & hurting is just me.

  when you deleted & blocked & changed your

  Instagram account to private, it was because

  your empty hands had nothing left to give,

  could only push back,

  could only wave goodbye,

  could only stop, I know.

  I’ve drawn the curtains. I’ve screened calls.

  I’ve felt mean & brave, when it didn’t matter. when your heart breaks, every piece is indistinguishable & the same.

  does your pain have a voice? does it need

  a space? one last thing I can give: here;

  may you cut your hair & grow it out.

  may no one watch.

  - in place of mercy.

  by yena sharma purmasir

  do you think medusa didn’t have to cut loose a serpent or two? shedding those who do nothing but spew malice your way is crucial, even if they end up being the ones you never thought you could live a single moment without. as much as this twists a knife in your gut, you must give yourself permission to do this. how else are you going to make space at your table for the ones who have proven they’re actually worthy of sharing your meals with? how else will you learn that you’re deserving of being served first, before anyone else?

  but you will grow stronger,

  grow wiser,

  grow the courage to look down and see

  yourself in pieces at your own feet.

  dare to send your fingers

  dancing through the shards

  before you pick them up

  and call them poetry,

  call them a new song,

  call them screaming in your car with the windows up

  and after you have emptied your throat of

  all the pain that finally pulled

  itself from your tongue,

  you will feel your lungs fill themselves

  with the kind of healing that you summoned

  all the way from wherever miracles are made.

  then you’ll breathe it back out

  feel it spilling into your story.

  you will pour words into your wounds

  like salt water,

  like the sound of saying what has happened

  can fill the gashes left, courtesy of cruelty.

  and it will, well enough.

  and in time, you will find

  that while you cannot scrub the scars from your skin

  you can rearrange them into something like maps

  soft, and webbed, and patiently waiting

  for you to trace them

  through all your mad, wild mending.

  - one breath at a time.

  by morgan nikola-wren

  she said,

  chase the bad memories

  through that cold,

  unfriendly

  wild.

  she said,

  chase the bad memories

  through the

  ruins of the

  fallen.

  she said,

  chase the bad memories

  until they explode

  & s c a t t er

  to dust.

  she said,

  they’ll be like

  the stars we still see

  but were burnt out

  before we were born.

  - it will get easier / it will hurt less / give it time.

  sometimes you heal up & sometimes you

  stick out at strange angles

  forever….. like an elaborate self-

  portrait

  drawn by a six year old & so what? you are

  learning what it means to be

  the only one

  of yourself & here you are

  in all of your glory in all of your razzmatazz

  dramatic lopsided glory

  yes:
you are here; it is morning ; you are

  wearing heart-

  shaped sunglasses & how grand

  it is! how glamorous & grand ~ to zig & zag

  & walk towards home, your body

  parting the air

  as though parting a beaded curtain

  - untitled II.

  by mckayla robbin

  renegade

  /'re-ni-ga-d/

  noun

  1: someone who loves themselves despite the falsehoods the world spills into them.

  - & if you can’t love yourself yet, you still deserve love from others.

  this is for the ones with

  starfall hearts and blown glass eyes

  this is for the ones with

  broken hands and unbroken ties

  this is for the ones with

  wild hair and ghosts in their lungs

  this is for the ones with

  unsung mothers and wars on their tongues

  this is for the ones with

  bruised peach skin and fear-flayed nails

  this is for the ones with

  hummingbird hearts and thighs that tell tales

  of nights they found love and nights to forget

  of days passed in silence, words not to regret

  - i am yours.

  by sophia elaine hanson

  if you want to put on your very best dancing shoes, then do it. if you want to zip yourself into your golden apple ballgown, then do it. if you want to paint your face while you dream of all the cupid-shaped smudges you’ll leave on mirrors for passersby to collect on their lips, then do it. you can do it all & still save yourself & the world for good measure. there’s nothing stopping you from being both gentle & valiant, just & magnificent, or any combination you should ever long for. the reason they tell us we cannot have it all is because they fear we will become even more dangerous than we are, & we are already such forces to be reckoned with.

  - open up the wardrobe & step inside.

  (homage to C.S. Lewis’s book series The Chronicles of Narnia)

  She carried her hurt around

  in a tiny glass jar,

  lid tight enough

  that it would take

  two hands to twist off.

  She convinced herself,

  that much like Pandora’s Box,

  opening it would only cause

  more harm than good.

  It’s easier to tell others

  that your monsters sleep under your bed

  instead of tucked away

  in a cold slumber right next to you.