the mermaid's voice returns in this one Page 4
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.