Amanda Lovelace - the mermaid’s voice returns in this one

the princess saves herself in this one (#1) the witch doesnt burn in this one (#2) the mermaids 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. remember to practice self-care before, during, & after reading. contents 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. contents 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. Id lost my voice.

Id 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 dont 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. 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 im dousing my fire. im dropping my sword. im melting my crown. im destroying my castle & then im 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 ill ever be, & im not sure which of us im trying to convince you, or me. you are the chapter i didnt 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 couldnt 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 girls 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, the mermaid 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 dont 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 hearts content because if anyone could be trusted to turn back from danger, it was me, - wasnt 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 werent 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 tear-stained pages, lovingly caressing the gold-dipped edges. noid 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. noid rather be her. - ariel II. & thats how the girl learned how to love but only ever from a great distance. sometimes she cannot tell the difference between the days shes walked this earth as herself & the days shes 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, im 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: im nobody. im nobody, too. - called back. (homage to the poem Im Nobody! Who are you?
by Emily Dickinson) when i tell you im 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 im not the book you dog-ear & keep with you always, the girl murmured, pulling her sleeves over her hands. maybe im the book you forget to bookmark & leave on the train. - shrinking violets like us. cant a prince a princess a n y o n e just come along & gaze upon me with such adoration its as if im 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 didnt 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 didnt matter where they ended up, so long as it was away. so long as it was together. happenstance /'ha-pn-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. - filed under: things i hate that i owe to you. you werent the first one to tell me they would kiss my scars so pretty, but you were certainly the first i believed. - now i know you cant fix someone else. everything started to make sense once i learned that you dont need to be caught underneath an ill-tempered wave in order to drown. im talking about how it feels when your fingers are twisted