Jean-elle-writing - Jean Elle Writing

Sirens often eat out of hatred, not love. So when the sailor girl asked the siren if she found her appetizing, she shook her head with a tight lipped grin. The human took it as rejection, her eyes falling to her hands and picking at the callouses she found unsightly, not understanding she had just shown her affection for her. That hiding one’s teeth was a gentle act of favor the merfolk used.

She was a moth that waited for the light to find her. And when she died it was dark as always.

I don’t feel anything anymore. I don’t know if I miss it or not. It can be nice being withdrawn from the world, until is isn’t.

You can run away from reality, and shield yourself from introspection, but in the corner of your eye your life is always happening.

What is love but the desire to feel sunlight through their skin. And hold there.

Algae bloomed on the face of the lake at summer’s height, like zits in bundles of thick and slimy green. The siren that dwelt deep in the lake’s toes could not bear the warm swampiness, it drove her mad. Not only that, but her sailor girl, her shining beacon of hope for food had wounded her in her escape. She felt rotten, her gash festered in hot white patches. No food, no beauty, no cold deep blue lake water to retreat to. All that was left for her was a walk. To find the sailor girl and give her what was coming to her.

Why do the ones I love keep being taken from me? What have I done to deserve shards of their memory pricking my fingertips like spindles every time I scroll on my phone and see a face that has stolen a piece of them? Their eyes on someone else’s head, their smile creasing someone else’s cheeks, their ginger hair curling around someone else’s ears that don’t fucking look right! I hate that I see you everywhere. I hate more that it’s never you.

With so many before me and so many after me, I feel I owe humanity something. Something I don’t know how to find or how to deliver, but that I search for, always.

Where there was once blood in my veins, cold laughter flows.

Bells ring at the tips of my bones,

A strange sound cries out my throat.

Alabaster dice roll in their jaws,

and I sit in my skin too tight bathed in spotlight,

Waiting to see grimace or grin.

To drown in failure or soak in glorious win,

Step forward step forward, renounce body and soul,

Become a jester like me, and luck is all you’ll own.

There is no wound so healed that the body does not remember its shape.

I don’t want to die knowing sadness last. I want to die in a happy moment. I want to die on the beach when I’m 8 years old, and I’m boogie boarding right for the first time. There’s salt water in my teeth and the sun is shining. I want to die suddenly. My head hitting the bottom of the sea floor hard and fast. I want to die a happy child.