anomalie--rougeatre

[anomalie--rougeatre]

structure

i am sick of structure; being structured. the essence of my humanity is a pillar of salt in pieces, threatening to fall apart and yet held together by fictional angels who test me. sentences and sensical words, even, are so limiting. always i am desperate to allow myself to be disgustingly indulgent and expose myself in shocking fashion. to open my mouth squarely and protest for all of my wants. why must i lie back with my eyes rolled to the floor? i remember my first poem i wrote to the lampshade and think of how i would have never let my body bleed through the lines. now, i revulse at even my own ideals.

[anomalie--rougeatre]

cross-eyed

i once read something that said that in order to see myself as beautiful, i've got to squint my eyes and blur out all the insecurities, and little by little, i'll see a whole new person. unfortunately, i am short-sighted, and squinting only makes the problems appear clearer. i make do with crossing my eyes, letting everything mix into itself until i no longer see a face. i blur and unblur my world over and over again. the first time i catch a proper glimpse of my unblurred self, i do not see a handsome man, but i do see a happy one. what a pretty sight. no more crossing my eyes. this happy man has a life to live.

[anomalie--rougeatre]

moon

the moon and i are parting ways; the sun has come back to entrance me. i may love her, but i am still utterly enamored with the moon, and always will be. she raised me under her soft glow on half-sleepless nights. she raised me to dance as i bathed in her light, gently swaying like the tides. sometimes i look up at her and wonder if she is looking back, too. i'd like to hold her hand someday, but i must wait. the moon smiles palely at me one last time before waving a soft goodbye. the sun comes, and i forget the moon, forget the memories, forget myself.

[anomalie--rougeatre]

quiet

the thing about silence is that it's never really silent. i sit next to a boy and i hear him breathe. i hear him mutter poems to himself. i hear him laugh. i hear him talk to his friends. i hear him take notes in class with his scratchy pen. i hear him slide a finger across my worn boots, making a soft sound. i love him. i hate him. there isn't just one him - all different boys, too, with different names, ones with sounds like s and r and k. i think about them and spin them around in my head. sometimes my thoughts are louder than they could ever be, violently intrusive, painting pictures that my young, malleable mind is unprepared for. but the boys make more noise. i want to be one of them. i am one of them, but too small, weak, soft, feminine, silent. i shout over my thoughts and join them. we are all so loud together, forgetting our differences, until a cry of quiet! is heard and we are silenced.

[anomalie--rougeatre]

songs

for the past three years, i've mostly spent life with my headphones on. i often let the songs i listen to take my mind away. music reminds me of people, places, things. there are so many places inside of my head i can visit. that song i had on repeat in august will take me right back to the colorful bedsheets and nostalgic furniture of my grandmother's cottage. during those past three years, i've considered a future in music. maybe i could write songs about love and loss and confusion and angst and delusions. hopefully everyone who hears those songs will feel them as deeply as i do, perhaps one day sing along, screaming or whispering, perfect pitch or off-key. i don't just want people to love me, i want them to love the music, love the message behind it, love everything. i could reach out to the special people who feel that way, help them if they're confused, make them feel better than i do. i wish i had that. i hope i will, if i keep myself alive long enough. i feel like i'm always thinking ten years into the future, but in that future, there is always music, and it gives me hope. i put on a song this morning, and for the rest of the day it flowed through my brain and body with each melodic sound. after these past three years, i'm surprised at how much the sounds in my ears have changed. i find a song in everything now.

[anomalie--rougeatre]

mirror

sometimes i sit in front of my mirror and ask myself who i am. i don't know how to answer that question, because i am so many things at once. i wonder what the mirror thinks of me. my mirrored self, whom i consider a close friend, as i've always enjoyed looking at myself in reflections of windows or puddles of rain on asphalt. when i feel hot tears streaming down my face, i turn to my friend, my mirror, to stare at the petechiae colorfully implementing themselves into my dark circles. it feels as if he's my only friend sometimes. maybe i'm just a mirrored image to him, or maybe, there's something more there. either way, there is no real answer to his question, my question, because i'm not even sure how i would answer myself. what can i say? maybe i shouldn't speak - i'll keep staring at him instead, observing his flawed beauty. i'll keep staring at myself, like narcissus did, gazing into the eyes of that beautiful man i see across from me. all i want to do is stare at me, you, him, the mirror, until they all become one person and i can finally accept that this body is mine.

[anomalie--rougeatre]

i fall in love with myself every summer, and back out of love every winter. finally the sun and i are on speaking terms. maybe she'll finally tell me how lovely my eyes look in her light as she's taking them out of my face. i wonder what they taste like to her? are they sweet? i should hope she enjoys them. she knows how much i love her, and surely, she must love me too. i wish she didn't have to leave again. i'll give her everything i have in hopes she'll come back and find me, and i'll let her eat away at my eyes as much as she wants.