Poetry by Oakley Moran

                Raquel Baranow CC



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​CW: death personified, animal death, controlling parents, neglectful/absent/unloving parents, disowning, sexism/misogyny

Note To Self

When I was just a little girl, I found a small and colorful bird-
body prone on the ground, beak
turned ever down in supplication,
wings wrecked and Death knocking at its door-
and this little bird told me to follow him ashore
so, I did

when I was just a little girl, I found a fossil risen from the depths-
an amalgamation of life and death
worked over by the steady hands of the Earth, 
and the relentless march of Time-
and this fossil told me to look to the Sea and to the sublime
so, I did

when I was just a little girl, I found a fish flopping about-
sand stained gills, blood and scales everywhere,
lifeless eyes turned towards the very air
that made the drought that brought it before my eyes-
and this fish told me gaze up at the Sky
so, I did

when I was just a little girl, I found a fallen star-
fire burning, blazing bright
smoking, ruinous, a dying light
at its end, now only a piece of space debris-
and this star told Me to be whoever I wanted to be
but….

when I was just a little girl, I found that I was not enough-
too quiet, too loud, too silent, and certainly too abrupt
far too emotional or far too cold, but always, always, something to be remolded
uncanny and wild and feral and free-
and I asked myself why that might be:

and so, I was told that little girls, they should not think of the dead,
Death and Earth and Time itself; the Sky, the Sea, and Me,
they will not love you in their stead

and so, I was told that little girls, they can be so easily disowned
you should be concerned with that rather than dying forgotten, unloved, and alone
for certainly, there are no monsters waiting to carry you back to your home

when I was just a little girl, I found that this world was not my friend-
it told me to break and twist until I met a quite unfortunate end,
until I was something much more acceptable,
as far away from uncanny and wild and feral and free as one could ever possibly be,
though this is something not at all like me-
but I told myself and sold myself and convinced myself that change I must indeed
so, I did and so, it was and so, it is not anymore.

someday, dear self, you too will find
that you can be as strange and happy as you want to be.

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Oakley Moran has always had an affinity for the strange. A graduate in film and digital media, she is a midwest-based speculative fiction novelist, scriptwriter, and lifelong storyteller. Oakley can be found writing about the wild, weird, wretched, and wondrous or waxing poetic about the monstrous. Follow her on Twitter @OakleyMoran

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