reading

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.

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.

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

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 . . .

“

after the

unimaginable

happened,

the mermaid

left the

dried up sea

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

with

both of his

wrists

ribboned

together

behind his

back.

- “do not say a word.”

there

was

nothing

could

have

done.

there

was

no one

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.

some miracle,

you

convinced

mother

that

it was okay

if i took

my bike out

into

the rain

rode

my heart’s

content—

because

anyone

could be

trusted

turn back

from

danger,

it was

me,

- wasn’t it?

should

be safe

for little girls

to ride their

little yellow

bikes

around

the block

without

someone

ending up

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.