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,
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
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.