See, the thing is…. SHE NEVER BELONGED TO YOU.
She belonged to the moon and the stars. She belonged to the rich soil trying to blow its way across to reach the barren lands. She belonged to the air just before a hurricane. Most of all, she belonged to the sea. Her heart ebbed and flowed with each rising tide. Her skin sweated out an overpowering taste of salt. Those flipper feet danced in the moonlight and and her songs were a lullaby to the passing by ships.
Genius bellowed out into the madness as she stood upon the cresting wave and screamed. Swimming back and forth like a caged beast, lakes could not harness her pain. Then she found a tributary allowing her to escape into the sea. Tears fell unnoticed as salt combined with more salt. Hurt tore into her back, but never broke it. Not an ounce of pity could be redeemed in the lonely ride on midnight waves. And she dove.
Swimming back into reclusion and seclusion. Finding comfort one thousand leagues under, she swam. Until she reached the black midnight where the oddest creatures preyed on the bottom of the oceanic shore. She’s seen these creatures before. Strange, unsightly bedfellows who swam around her soul. Never bothering. Fearful of her pain.
Cocooned and holed up is the place she calls home. Surrounded by the seaweed and leftover oil residue shimmering rainbow rays of multicolored lights. One tiny sliver of hope is all she needs right now to rise up and grab hold of the sky’s reflection. The ocean is blue. Her heart is sadness.
Mermaids built a home in the sea, for once it was said they had lived on land. Their home probably destroyed by the hands of man. Adaptation. Evolution. By and by, sinking further away from humanity and into the drowning world.
A pisces woman never belongs to any man. She belongs to the sea.
All of the eleven are rolled into the last great number twelve. Flirting on the outskirts of hopelessness, she is living day to day on the fuel of daydreams and nightmares. She is scared because her greatest ally tells her what will come. What shall be always is and there isn’t any way of changing destiny.
It is in silence she waits.
She waits. She waits. She waits.
The day has come where she swims farther away. She summons Poseidon’s rusty trident to guard and protect her. Barrier reefs become a forcefield. She builds her own walls, in the quiet oblivion resting on the seafloor.
Good comes to those who are pure. The fish facing to the right is charming, pleasant and can please a crowd. The right fish will love you and fight for you until her last gasping breath. She will enchant you. Ecstasy will flood your bloodstream. Every naked moment alone with this good fish is euphoric. Love is what this fish is made to do. Be love. Give love. Crave love. An insatiable appetite at best.
The fish facing to the left is the stubborn matriarch with gnashing teeth and a cracking whip full of sarcasm for a tongue. It is the tears gutting a man. The howls of hurt in an empty bedroom. It is the depression sinking in an overcrowded, overly decorated, dirty home. A place once lit by the warmth of her love. The bad will eat the good if she lets it.
When the darkness overrides the light, a tsunami is made. Her hurt will swell and grow larger until it reaches the shorelines. Every manmade object is pulled into her sea. It is covered in mud-mucked layers and spit back onto the earth.
All the while, your pisces woman is crying.
Emotional. Sensitive. Nurturing. Loving. Loyal. Angry.
Your pisces woman.
Rachel E. Bledsoe is a writer and an Appalachian Misfit Mama. She enjoys swimming, long walks on the beach, and Marie Antoinette biographies. She is the sole voice and writer behind The Misfits of a Mountain Mama. You can visit her on Facebook or on Twitter @MisfitMtMama.