The Political Act of Being A Mermaid
On surviving cultural and political assimilation and displacement
Remove your wings, your fins, your fangs, and your scales
Be naked but uncomfortable in your own skin
Lower your head and your eyes
Only speak when spoken to
And only then will you ever be considered an object of desire or something
of value.
I am not me when I remove my things
My protections
My otherness
The kink and frizz in my fro is a fierce fortress of dedication to myself.
I will not die on the altar that you’ve constructed for me
I am beautifully sovereign
All parts of me are sovereign
Bless me.
I freely speak, read, and write my own name
Bless the click of my tongue.
What do you know about a body or an intellect like mine?
You don’t.
You only want to co-opt all of my parts and wittle me down until I am standardized and bland.
I am way past the expiration date that you set for me and yet I still burst with flavor. I am still good.
My scent fills your nostrils and reminds you that I cannot be erased.
How come your peace is threatened by my existence?
My skin is my own. It belongs to me. It looks good on me.
Bless my beauty.
I know how fire consumes the flesh and disfigures its delicate function
I will never perish under anyone’s flame.
Especially, not yours.
Especially, when you believe my bones are too dense for these waters that I have always called home.
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