humiliation | Teen Ink

humiliation

June 14, 2024
By Anonymous

If I could,

I would call down to the gods or whoever is up on that cloud above that i can not see, and clasp my hands together, with

My knuckles tightening and brightening until blue-glow scars are sketched across my skin

God, I call upon you, give me burning, bright red hair!!! Yet let it cascade like a stream, not too crimson as I play the anti-hero, from my rose- pink scalp to the ends of my previously-raven black hair, because…. not anymore, not anymore dear antagonist! Because the past of my role has vanished, now, within seconds of my transformation, you won’t even remember who i was!  now you see the true m.c of this story, the anti hero!

Yes, and i am laughing, screams are pelting down my throat, because, there is no need for a because, you are going to vanish within two seconds for wronging me, surely, surely!!

Surely but

But as the bubbles pop and they fade and they fade and they fade and they pop and they fade and they show their blistering undertones

The reality is ugly 

Because im still stuck in my green chair that's….mocking me, and i don't know why I would even agree to this–but it doesn't matter, because im stuck and thats just STUPIDITY drowning me

While the laugh tracks where I don’t know came from flushed out in the background, my gorgeous, silky black hair is still discarded down my face, like an ugly-cardboard shield, that i’ve been staring at in my garbage can for ages.

Please tell me, have you ever glimpsed the summit of a cloud? Have you even seen the delicate lineart it paints across the sky? I think it would be oil pastel. I haven't, not even while standing on my tippest-tippy toes. but i know they’re pearly white, but do you know what else is pearly white? my tears cascading down my cheeks and it's not even stupid anymore because its dumb , i hate you and all of this burns my skin scarlett, and everything

Maybe next time my hair will turn red, or maybe not but

It won't happen again. 


The author's comments:

The narrator in this poem is frustrated and imagines herself becoming the oppressor herself, but her reality shatters as she realizes that she's still being mocked and teems with frustration and anger
 


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