Normal Girl of American Circumstance

Lowcountry Sirens

The eyes flickering where road lies unpaved,

where silence before a good storm

drives men to madness. While the night sea

hollers past, the marsh spills, creeps

barren-skinned, eyes alight with myth and truth

(Only a quiet few know the line between the two).

Traps lie open, the marshlands feeding;

You must eat for yourself before granting to others.

Docks that once stood tall, dwarfed by tide and

governed by live oak—the moss remembers.

The smell, alone, has porches painted blue

and sweet grass tied into doorstep crosses

(and crowns for those who chose the Sea).

when u liked too many “SLOW slow burn friends to lovers” posts in ur youth and now ur going on year 4 where literally no one else can distract from Them