Monthly Archives: November 2015

The Gathering: Consuming Seas

As the moonlight hits the dark inked ocean of my mind and memories

Deep in that sea, under the stars of the night

The fellow mermaids meet.


Sirens created through the pain of abuse; shaping and moulding them simultaneously into beauties


Now they wear their crowns of thorns and emotional disdain with little to no shame


My own crown, made of Ivy, so green it becomes blue or black, if you see me clearly

The Lilies of another mermaid’s wreath comfort me

In our pain we know beauty, but never peace or sleep

For it is when we are full of our sorrows that we return to the curse which is this ocean

Calling out in our pain; yet our vulnerability draws the lust of men


In hope that their souls can bring us some worth

Many of us fight as Mermaids for their lusts


But as dawn draws near, we often remember the plight of the Siren is already a lost cause


So we toy with our prey instead


Taking bits and bits of their Freedom, till their weaknesses are exposed and they have no more worth


But soon, when the motherly affection of the moon hits the ocean once again, you’ll see the ocean in all its doom and hear our beautiful cries calling you to your death.

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The Gathering: Lucid Counsel

These waves of muddied water

Memories of rushing water

Stained the colour of ink

Hitting my feet as I try t rush by


My white wedding dress stained blue from the written memories of my past

But it feels like they are consuming me because of this dress


This dress that displayed my victory

This dress that symbolises the freedom from my distress


Was now being muddied as my mind comes under duress


I fall into the deep lagoon of my thoughts and I’m met with several mermaids who seek the same dress


Cursed by their bitterness and shame,

They brought their souls to lay here and rest

And yet, it was causing them death.


This place of immeasurable beauty that has made their aesthetics to be blessed


But it’s time to break free from this seaweed we adorn as dress


And don the garments of our pleasure, before our souls end up forever bereft and unkempt.

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The Loves: Part One

Diagnosis 1

The Love that we love to lust for

That is not truly for us.


As careless and carefree as the wind, yet has the ability to fertilise unknowingly and oh so naturally.


Not for me

Not for you

Not for us.

It belongs to no one and seeks to travel the world of pleasure; simply for experience rather than gain

For the taste, despite their insatiable hunger


This love that is greedy and doesn’t stop wanting your worship

The intensity is equally as aloof as it is clingy

All consuming, like the sea above our heads

Drowning, yet simultaneously swimming towards this treasure chest; of gold and riches unknown

Never quite reaching it

Never quite grasping it


But the hope and idea of it keeps us swimming

Treasures that will never truly be ours

This is that type love.


Diagnosis 2

This dangerous love.

A one-sided love.

A victim and the criminal love.

Taking advantage and the crying damsel in distress

The Beast raped Beauty in sleep, mentally, but Disney forgets that part of the story

That Beauty – in all of her blissful and willing ignorance – became a slave to beast

To this abusive love

Of the Injured and Insecure; constantly breaking the beautiful, passionate and innocent

All she has is you and your abuse to look to, hoping one day that you will gain humanity


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Glittering Corpse

Quivering body in a dark room

The corner, the crevice

Her own personal abyss

Bright skin

Cold, wet dreams. Anxiety ridden with the subconscious’ steam


Trying to breathe easy

But existence at the forefront of her mind does not allow her this freedom of mental duty


Broken, twisted limbs

Unidentified in the wind


A guardian angel’s sniffer dog cannot catch her scent in the wind

The effort seems futile

And so they leave


She sees their backs and screams in fear of their departure

But all they hear are sounds of glee

Inciting their fury

They do not know of her insecurity


So now once again she is left in the corner, in the crevice, in the abyss

Crying for the last of her sanity not to leave

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Janded Girl/Black Girl

Why do you feel the need to shame me for my difference

Why is my individuality treated like social exhibitionism


Even if I walk naked, with my head held high

In the secret, in the quiet

In the forest, where I am alone


I still hear your voices of distaste

The words of your disgust

The phrases implying my disgrace


Yet if I try to hide

If I try to humble myself

Voices of an angry and jaded Mami come to haunt me

“Sell yourself!

Be proud of yourself!

I will never accept your sense of freedom or individuality



So once again, I draw back my soldier’s shoulders

The warrior of my father’s ancestors

And the beauty of my mother’s ancestral sisters


I remember I must keep going to win the fight

To prove within the battle who is right


So whilst I am still on this foreign land

I’ll use the sounds of my people and my ancestors to push me

To take into account their memories and their struggles

And to believe in what they have named me.

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