Happy

Nothing makes me happy

because no thing makes me happy

because my happiness does not reside in things.

🙂

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Stone Lady

let me tell you about the stone lady. she is beautiful like the moon and dead like the moon too. there is something unearthly alien future machine swimming behind her eyes, along the curve of her cheek. Electric eel-tipped fingers which she passes off as static shock. Clocks in her wrists, so she never needs a watch. A tick in her jaw, a metronome to keep time, you can see it flicker when she practices piano on Sundays, religiously for hours. Mass. Matter. Dinosaur flesh.

her fingers ache dully.

let me tell you about the stone lady. she is beautiful like the moon and alive like the moon too. Wolf tamer. Wave caller. Blood ruler. wild thing. half eagle, half steel mermaid. after the ice caps melted and the waters rose, sometime in the future, she flipped her tail and swum back to now. She eyed the shore, and began her swim, grew legs as her tail split, stone scales and steel creeping along her toes, calves, thighs, all along her bones, over organs, under muscle, armoured as she walked on water to shore, salt streaming from her body like she was a bag split open, skin closing over her like a jacket, hair made of night, and eyes plucked from Pluto.

sand crunches under her new feet.

let me tell you about the stone lady. she is beautiful the way a lake covered in ice is the most beautiful and perfect and serene when no one is looking at it. she loves to love, gently like a goddess. fiercely like a witch. and from far away like a siren song. this is not her home (anymore). It was, or could have been, or maybe still can be, but isn’t. there is too much oil in the ocean now, and chemical fire in the air. she is impossible to love like -40 Montreal winter storm, and like them beautiful too: trees, encased in ice, shining like jewels in the day, dead. her wise eyes, with 28th century alien technology (and some very ancient witchcraft) see Truth and Lie. her embrace is gentle, insistent, cold. her love is real. no one can accuse her of not caring.

let me tell you about the stone lady.
she was not always part stone, part eagle, part witch,
part mermaid, part steel, part machine, part goddess,
armoured.

once upon a time,
a very
very very
long time ago,
before The Change

she had been a little girl.

and she had been human.

Posted in feminism, Mental Health, poetry, scifi, Thoughts on Life, Uncategorized | Leave a comment