We.

He pushes me to the edge. I never feel too wild or too much. I know we won’t last because feral is in our blood. Every time I’m unsure, I focus on our messy, unlabeled love.

We ran wild with the salt in our skin and the wind tangling my hair. We didn’t make plans, we just showed up and let the night take us anywhere. When I want a storm, he makes one. When I want to run away, he always comes. He’s a caged soul like me; he is, right now, exactly what I need. 

I don’t want to explain and I don’t want to behave. He takes my hand and we jumped into terrifying waves. He won’t let me get washed away. He doesn’t make me feel wrong for being this way. For not being able to contain my soul, for not being able to keep my thoughts quiet. He sees me and just knows. He pushes me and doesn’t want roots for home.

He will always be my wild runaway and I will be his messy haired escape. I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to cry, so he took my hand and let me drive. 

He doesn’t twist the what-I-meants or tries to make someone wrong and someone right. He sees me when I’m wrong and when I’m right. He doesn’t condemn me for being filled with darkness and sometimes light.

The cosmos keep reminding us of our fate. The intertwines and those green eyes, all the signs from the stars keep me his, and him mine.

Carnival mirror.

I have this letter clutched in my hand. This isn’t a safe place anymore like it used to be and you don’t understand. 

It isn’t attacks and rebukes. It’s my thoughts poured out at each passing moment;  they aren’t pointed nukes.

You come to read my thoughts like a psychic paid to spill all of her truths, then you resent her and hate her for giving all those thoughts to you. 

I have to write a letter because I know you won’t pick up if I call. I had to write this letter if there was ever hope at all. 

While it drifts through hands and seeks its way, I’m sick to my stomach hoping you’ll at least read it…I hope it will give you something to say.

 More than one word. I’m sick of those one words. Hurt isn’t a feeling only one person can feel and I’m allowed to feel like dirt. 

You came in my home and rifled through the drawers. Yet I’m wrong and I’m mean. I don’t like this game you play anymore. 

Sick. 

The thought of you makes me physically ill. Knots in my stomach and hurt that slowly and pointedly kills.

You don’t know what you want so you string along all the puppets you can string. You are a sociopath

with a lust for things.

Pretty things that float sickly in your jars. Say pretty things to coax out our hearts.

I see you. I don’t think you even realize what you say isn’t true.

I just want rot for you, now.

I wanted to be better but I suppose I’m not.

I want it all to keep crashing down around you; the way you will inevitably bring it. 

I don’t know when I became a mean girl, I don’t really care anymore. I’ve long since been spurned enough that I don’t care about your heart, dirty and worn.

You say so many pretty things and I used to believe them. Eat them up like they were an elixir. Eat them up like I won’t be just another “her”.

But I don’t have a soft heart anymore and I don’t know when that came to be. Maybe it was when you fucked me over again and again, maybe.

I don’t have good wishes for you like I used to. I don’t have a good heart like you knew.

Take your oozing hearts, bleeding in those pickled jars, watch the reflection crumble into nothing. You are nothing. You made us nothing.

You don’t deserve a thing. I hope misery is all you find from those dried out heartstrings.

Switch.

Somewhere the switch was flipped. Caring became indifference. Want became boredom. You are two different people from one message to the next. 

Scour the good and find them in colors you can put in your pocket. Tell me you miss them and remind me of it. 

Of course I remember when I was happy and almost whole. I don’t need reminding of the ruin you caused, widening the hole.  I remember the smell of you on the pillow next to me. Falling asleep to the loud sounds of you breathing. I remember the steady of your arms around me; a solid place to fall when I was in need. I don’t need a picture to remind me. 

I remember those warm pools that felt like a safety net. I remember how it felt when you checked out and left. I don’t need reminding of the choice that you made. You change your mind every other day. 

Somewhere a switch was flipped and you turned off. I turned on. I see it now that you’ve checked out and gone. 

A Little Mermaid. 

You have to have your sea legs when you want to set sail. You always said you did but you puked to no avail. You hung green over the rails. The seas won’t let you lie.

I wasn’t ready to leave my tail for legs. I wasn’t ready to settle and stay. I didn’t know I lied until you fell over the side and now I’m just relieved that I tried. 

I tried so hard to be part of your world but the truth is I’m not a landlocked kind of girl. 

I was thrown out with the fish that wouldn’t last, the ones you didn’t think were of use. The ones that couldn’t swim fast. 

I know it doesn’t matter anymore. I know that we both want different shores. I know it doesn’t matter anymore. 

 We were a Hans Christian fairytale. Pretty enough to keep you reading into deep dispair. Where you knew something was off…where the words described her happiness just a little too much. 

Where she fell into sea foam and he never knew. The kind of fairytale where you’d do anything to scream for him what to do. 

But you didn’t have sea legs and men don’t choose women with tails. You didn’t have sea legs and I could do nothing but fail. So I fell into the foam and chose me over you. I fell into the blue. 

I doesn’t matter anymore. The Prince and the girl chose very different shores. 

Symbiotic.

We have accepted this fate. Of a siren, a sailor, and a future doomsday. Our love has weathered through rocks during storms, sea drenched monsters that often take our very own form. 

We batter on knowing the seas won’t part, knowing this is volitle, and that this love has changed so much from the start.

Your blue lips prove you can’t navigate your ships. My fickle heart can’t make us float; neither one of us should steer this boat. 

Clutch on to the broken boards that lap in the waves. I can swim through the black, this is where sirens best stay. We’ll keep ebbing in the tides and we don’t need to speak the whys. 

You need a song to hold on to, to swallow like it’s your last bit of hope. I need a sailor to play with while treading in the undertow. 

Loose.

There is a fierceness that has consumed her soul. Wild eyes not searching but scorching. Stretched too tight and she broke the mold. 

There isn’t anything else but her. Run free, run wild, run amok, who cares who sees? Who cares for leashes over land? Who cares for permissions from any man? Who would rather practice docility behind bars that let taunting breeze play? …who am I to think I’ll ever be good at “stay?” 

A collar of gold against a soul is still sinfully adorned. Naked and bold is how warriors were born. Naked and bold is all she’ll agree to be told. Freed from all the chains she trapped herself in; freed from anything that could keep her from bigger, wilder, less tame things. 

She shakes her stubborn hair loose. Into maniacal curls. She laughs in the wind. She was never good at being a tamed girl. 

Gone going gone. 

I see all the glitter in the pavement, now. The roads all go away. Some twist and some don’t, but they all know I can’t stay.

There’s a new freedom that’s overwhelming my brain. Lighting snaps through the haze. I’m packing for where the sky doesn’t end and the salt stiffens my hair. There isn’t anything left for me here. Where they left me here. Where they will always be…here. 

I can’t be here. My wings are itchy with confinement. With small hearts and shallow waters. I wasn’t made for puddles made from road dents. 

There is a certain glitter in the pavement that doesn’t end. It lures me and I realize it’s exactly what will keep me from breaking…just bend. 

It’s close to my fingers and I can feel the mermaids swimming close. I’ve been gone too long and I’m finally going home. 

Changed.

Everything I thought I knew changed. I thought I saw a monster foaming on chains. Everything fell into place that once muddled my brain. 

All I saw was me and now I realize you have fallen apart at the seams.  I saw you slipping but I just closed my eyes and hoped. Only you can not let go.  

I realize that I’ve always been strong enough to survive. I realize now that beasts get tamed sometimes. I couldn’t see before, but it just took me some time. 

It wasn’t okay to snarl and claw, but lost souls aren’t always kind.  They snap when they are lost and I have forgotten how to find. 

In the corner of your open cage the gate swings wide. I’ve been selfish and I hope you find a breeze to be your guide. 

I’m sorry, sweet beast, don’t let the world make you too fierce to be alive. You must fight for yourself to do more than just survive.

I see you now and I’m sorry it took so much time.