Siren / by grace mcgrade

  He told me I was like a Siren. A Siren who had lured him away from his journey, who had stolen him into the sea. At first, I was flattered, picturing a mermaid with translucent jade skin, dusted with champagne sunlight and sea foam, with hair wild and cheeks aflame, enveloped in tendrils of purple seaweed. I saw it the way I saw everything else, like a story.     As our relationship developed I saw that he spoke of something carnivorous, fatally provocative. Emitting demonic fumes, like a venus fly trap, until I could lure him into a bottomless cave. Only to envelop him, chew him, swallow him and spit him back up in splinters and fragments of flesh that sprayed across the midnight surface, engulfed by the oceans tongue. Perilous and hungry for men. This is the Siren he spoke of.     He said wanted sink into me, deep, heavy, like melting in a witches brew, like dissolving into the stars, sorcerous, and intertwined like celtic knots.     I was seen as a pitstop on his heroic journey, the temptation to his messiah, a side effect to his immaculate vigor. He was unable to view me in my totality, as separate and soverign.    As a woman, you are not supposed to be aware of the potency of your own sexual power. This is why we were burned at the stake.     The more I do away with convention in search of expression and comfort the more beautiful I become. This scares him.     I am wild, hot blooded, elusive, angry and untamed. I will not be small or discreet or apologetic. I am the snake that unfurls and riles through the dirt and I fit into the places you don’t want or expect me to. I overflow and seep into the earth, melt like wax and beat the breath of the moon. My sex is my power. In my body I carry the allure of the feminine that drives all nature. You can try to assign me as the characters you need to act out and exorcise your trauma. The traumas from your mother, her mother and the great mother.     Try, and I will haunt you in aromatic memory, and leave you in a garden of agonies to rot and ferment.

He told me I was like a Siren. A Siren who had lured him away from his journey, who had stolen him into the sea. At first, I was flattered, picturing a mermaid with translucent jade skin, dusted with champagne sunlight and sea foam, with hair wild and cheeks aflame, enveloped in tendrils of purple seaweed. I saw it the way I saw everything else, like a story.

As our relationship developed I saw that he spoke of something carnivorous, fatally provocative. Emitting demonic fumes, like a venus fly trap, until I could lure him into a bottomless cave. Only to envelop him, chew him, swallow him and spit him back up in splinters and fragments of flesh that sprayed across the midnight surface, engulfed by the oceans tongue. Perilous and hungry for men. This is the Siren he spoke of.

He said wanted sink into me, deep, heavy, like melting in a witches brew, like dissolving into the stars, sorcerous, and intertwined like celtic knots.

I was seen as a pitstop on his heroic journey, the temptation to his messiah, a side effect to his immaculate vigor. He was unable to view me in my totality, as separate and soverign.

As a woman, you are not supposed to be aware of the potency of your own sexual power. This is why we were burned at the stake.

The more I do away with convention in search of expression and comfort the more beautiful I become. This scares him.

I am wild, hot blooded, elusive, angry and untamed. I will not be small or discreet or apologetic. I am the snake that unfurls and riles through the dirt and I fit into the places you don’t want or expect me to. I overflow and seep into the earth, melt like wax and beat the breath of the moon. My sex is my power. In my body I carry the allure of the feminine that drives all nature. You can try to assign me as the characters you need to act out and exorcise your trauma. The traumas from your mother, her mother and the great mother.

Try, and I will haunt you in aromatic memory, and leave you in a garden of agonies to rot and ferment.