Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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The quiet one

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The room is low lit and hums with a dozen conversations.

Sitting amidst the noisy chatter of friends, she is the quiet one.  Watching and listening, she takes it all in.

The opening notes of a song begin to play and her eyes light up.

It’s her song.

She jumps to her feet and heads to the dance floor, oblivious to others. 

This girl, alone on the dance floor, loses herself in the music.  She’s in her own world. 

Her long skirt brushes her calves as her hips sway.  As she closes her eyes her head falls back.  With her arms extended above her, curved gracefully, she becomes the song.

She is a pale skinned girl with short dark hair, a long errant strand curling along her bare neck.  Her slender body moves with feeling, the lyrics resonating deeply within her.

She has no idea of the picture she paints to those who watch.  The vision presented to someone like you.

Watching from a table in the back.

Watching as she dances alone.

Uninhibited.

Free.

Wild.

Feeling every note of music in every part of her.

You watch her, transfixed, a smile touching your lips.

You see the creature beneath the modest clothes and the young, innocent face.

You see me.

The me that I do not know.

The me that you will know.

As I lose myself in that moment.

As I lose myself in the music.

As I lose myself

in being me.

:

*First posted in February of this year.

‘How Soon Is Now?’ written and performed © The Smiths

Words on this blog post ©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph is of the French actress Audrey Tautou. For several reasons she, and this picture, perfectly illustrated this post. The photo was taken by Ralph Wenig in 2013.


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I am not made of stone

I am not made of stone.

I have been told

That I wear my heart upon my sleeve

That my writing tells all.

While my writing is imbued with

My thoughts, my feelings, my desires

I write only what I want known.

I am a world of private thoughts and feelings

Pain and joy

Mine to share

If I desire.

You will not find me crying publicly

But that does not mean I don’t hurt

It does not mean that the tears I shed

Don’t run hot down my face

When I am alone.

I am not made of stone

I get confused and frustrated

I have feelings

I have pride

I can be hurt by unkindness

By insensitivity

Especially when it’s unwarranted

Though you’ll never know how much.

 No, I am not made of stone

I am made

Of heart

And soul

:

*Not a new piece but always relevant, always me.

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2015

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced


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Fringes

I am the girl…

all of my life accepted by all

but embraced by few

as kindred.

A life lived on the fringes.

The quiet, acceptance, and understanding I needed

found within.

A solitary life amid others

where the voices heard were my own.

Distinct and indistinct.

The tenor of my present and past

guiding me forward.

The world that I created

gentling the sometimes-jagged edges

of this life

as I cast an unwavering gaze upon the future.

Refusing to flinch

at harsh light, cold wind, or seemingly impossible odds.

The tears that fall are my own

to see

to know

a burden I carry.

To be unknown

except to myself.

A melancholy prospect

as I hold that façade in place

by sheer willpower and determination.

Protecting my inner life

until the day that someone starts to dismantle it

with kind eyes that see me clearly

and with a touch that tells me

I am home.

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Pinterest; original provenance unknown.

 


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Changed

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It has been seventeen weeks, five days and one hour since you told me. Since my world shifted on its axis. Since our lives were changed, permanently. 

But who’s counting?

I am asked by family and friends how I am dealing with it. If I have gotten used to it, accepted it. There is never just one answer. It is too complex for that. Indeed, it is too complex for words on most days. 

I tell them that I accepted it the moment that I was told.  And I did.  How could I not?  There was never ever a question that I wouldn’t.  But my heart grieved.  For what was lost.  For what would be irrevocably changed.  But most of all, for the burden that was carried, silently and alone, for too long.  My head accepted it.  I was rational and logical.  But the heart does not know nor does it understand those words.  And though there is unconditional love and acceptance, there is more than one layer to ‘getting used’ to something.  The head always wraps itself around a problem, a situation, a change, more readily than does a heart. 

Hearts have a long memory.

So my answer to that well meaning and concerned question was ‘yes, I’ve gotten used to it’ and ‘no, you never get used to it’.  And both answers are true.  Perhaps one day I can say that I am well and truly used to it, but I don’t know that that is possible.  There are too many memories, 15 years worth, to believe that there will never be a day that I am not jolted back in time or that my heart won’t feel a twinge at what will never be. 

But for now I just accept each day as a gift.  One more day that, if things had been different, I might not have had.  And I know how lucky I am.

:

*Written a year ago to the day. Still relevant as my new normal continues to take shape. As the tides rise and the sands shift, every day there is learning and acceptance and gratitude. But even on my best days there is still grief for what has been lost and an exhaustion with a climb that will never plateau.

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2016

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208

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Dreams

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Dreams are an escape.

They provide us a way to cope with a monotone life.

One we are indentured to.

One we have been imprisoned within

by ourselves, or by others.

But dreams are also a journey

a fantastical, adventurous trip.

A path to nowhere,

and everywhere.

We never know whether the line will be straight and true

toward the fulfilment of that dream

or if the way will be mired in confusion, loss, fear, anger, 

those times when the dream is lost.

I adore the dream.

The dream is a lifeboat

for when the seas are rough and we need something to cling to.

The dream

is the burning light upon the horizon

the glorious sunrise we awaken to each day

the focus that keeps our feet upon the path

that keeps our hearts strong.

The dream

is our gift

to ourselves.

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Artwork taken from Tumblr


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Key

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Looks could be deceiving

But he always had her measure

Approaching each lock with care

Sensing

But not knowing

The result

As he fit the key within

Carefully

Purposefully

Each click of permission

As lock accepted key

A silent sigh of relief within him

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Tumblr


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Awake

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It began like Spring,

this stirring within.

Tentative touches forward,

Winter’s chill began to diminish.

She felt the heat of the sun

upon her skin,

once again

kissing her awake.

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Tumblr

 

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