Perhaps you aren’t as faceless
as you think you are:
your skin not green,
your face not plastered
with wide-eared grins,
your house neither yellow nor
full of garish trampolines, trapdoors and springs.
This static,
this stillness,
this is you:
Quiet, loud, alone in your room
screaming in whatever tongue you
speak best at, staring back
at reflections in mirrors
that don’t recognise you.
You smile,
measure the gaps between your
teeth and find that they
are a little bit smaller,
check their slant and find
that they lean a little more
to the left,
feel your skin and find
that the green tinge
comes off with a light scratch
of a nail,
and that beneath the coverings,
you still
are flesh and blood.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 11:59 AM UTC
Perhaps you aren’t as faceless
as you think you are:
your skin not green,
your face not plastered
with wide-eared grins,
your house neither yellow nor
full of garish trampolines, trapdoors and springs.
This static,
this stillness,
this is you:
Quiet, loud, alone in your room
screaming in whatever tongue you
speak best at, staring back
at reflections in mirrors
that don’t recognise you.
You smile,
measure the gaps between your
teeth and find that they
are a little bit smaller,
check their slant and find
that they lean a little more
to the left,
feel your skin and find
that the green tinge
comes off with a light scratch
of a nail,
and that beneath the coverings,
you still
are flesh and blood.
