Photo by Timothy Eberly on Unsplash

jazz baby

What’s 16,000 feet below sea level? I don’t know, but I bet educated scientists could tell you for me. Locked up in the dreamy, intoxicating mind that is my own, I imagine mermaids and all their sea-breathing friends playing under the sea and I wonder when we’re gonna stop exploring space and investigate the sea. The wide-open sea that connects us all together, the same salty carrier that parts lovers and separates families. The wide-open sea that holds the element that brings life. Bring it all to me, let me feel the energy.

But above ground, politics rule our lives whether we want to admit it or not. My country is that of a democratic republic. It’s a republican democracy. Try not to sneak in politics in a conversation, or risk getting a fist in your face. Like a bolt of lightning, this medium ends friendships, divides countries, and ruins people’s lives. But we can’t live without it. It’s an unknown high like no other. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if you’re a conservative or liberal, Democrat or Republican because governments are kleptocracy: rule by thieves.

Put me in a room full of strange people and I stand out like a sore thumb. My long, gangly legs. My pitch-black hair. My war-torn brown skin amongst a sea of white snow. The girl in my mirror cries when she sees me in such a state. She reaches out to help but finds that she cannot. Put me out of my pathetic misery. String me up like Mama’s clean laundry and decapitate me, so I know what death feels like. Don’t pity me, la pauvre petite fille. Why don’t you just let me, let me be?

Give me a spaz shotgun and I will show this world how to fear. I will tame rogue nations, I will singlehandedly squash international terrorism, I will annihilate domestic traitors, I will quiet the Axis of Evil because all men in power do is talk. Let a woman handle their business. She’ll take care of it real good. I will put the very fear of God in these infidels. Let me at them like a violent monsoon angel.

So goes my song. I feel the melodies envelop my soul and I’m gone again. Slithering around, gyrating to the music that only I can hear. Get hot, it says. Writhe to the beat of my heart like no one’s watching. But I don’t just dance to the song. I sing it too. I’ll keep on singin’ my song. What songs do people sing when no one else is around? This is mine.

Ready to consume a creative writing podcast?

Subscribe to raconteuse radio via your favorite podcast app!

This small but mighty podcast examines how words on the page sound different when the creator brings the words to life. Join me as I celebrate all the diverse emerging voices that I can find, and the industry folks behind the scenes too. Want to be featured? Submit your pitch!

It’s time to step into the spotlight.

Icon of a hand, hoding a pen, writing love, peace, and adobo grease, Guilliean