Mermaid Verse

music flows from lips and as words meet sound bound and found me, your eyes wide open, soul sprightly greeting thee….

Leave a comment

It hurts so good (8-2-14 to 8-3-14) – by Megan Seaman

Something golden below the surface

Something golden below the surface

It hurts so good.

You run the sharp nail over the raw and tender surface and it hurts so good. It is the feeling of nothing; a faint scream, or some noise six billion years away. But you hear it anyway. It is the trickle of water from some cracked pipe, in some wall, on some floor, in some building, in some city, in some country, on some continent, and it leaks and flows in the darkness. But you hear it anyway. It is the glimmer, shining, thirty-six thousand feet below the sea, where Spanish dancing cucumbers can’t even survive. But you see it anyway. It is the honeyed smell of spring, some one hundred and seventy-nine days after the first leaf falls on autumn’s ground. But you smell it anyway. It is the flavor of the pomegranate in the dark red depths of the wine that grew from the grapes nourished by the land, which flourished an orchard of Persephone’s fruits nine thousand years ago. But you taste it anyway. It is the aching feeling under three (thousand) layers of skin, wanting to be exposed and touched, wanting to be acknowledge for the sensation it brings. But you feel it anyway. And though it is tender and raw under the piercing metal,

It hurts so good.


Leave a comment

Crime of Passion (10-26-2011) by Megan Marie Seaman

“Twisting turning trying to fit in

As if I was not one to fit

Going against the grain?

Believing the illusion of my roundness and their square

Keeping separate holding back hiding away

Won’t the veil ever be lifted?

Won’t the cloud go away?

When will the truth be revealed?

When will I feel okay?

The answer, I believe, is so simple

And in its ease I lose trust

‘cause nothing in life is easy or to the point

or that is what I have thought

perceiving only one side of things

perpetuating the deceit told long ago

like a slave, I whip myself and punish

painstakingly I will hold up the lie

and die cowardly and squirmish

and it feels so good like a lullaby

to think of my brutal destruction

at the hands that script these words

I will lay this body down and throttle it

Until the last precious breath is gone

And maybe then the pain will end.” – Megan M. Seaman