Ananya A

United States

Message to Readers

This piece is one of self-reflection and thought. Please read it for your own tranquility, satisfaction, and understanding of your own selves. Enjoy. Let me know what this piece makes you think of.


April 20, 2021

Waking up… who is that? I ponder within.
Chilly. Morning sunshine pours, feathered wonders sing endlessly…
Can the sunshine cleanse my tainted mind?
I fear getting up… seeing it. The horror hidden somewhere near
in a void that is filled with endless portrayals of me.
How can I ever look? I decide I mustn’t. 
Somehow, I do anyways. Frozen toes and all,
slipping out from under the comfort of my pale sheets. Almost as pale as me, yet not quite.
Frozen toes marrying the tiles in my room,
slewing me forward and I plead. Please don’t make me… please.
Why would I think they would heed my warning? I beg my mind for relief, still
no, I am here. Stories down, an oakwood door with a loose screw whistles as it moves back and forth…
Almost a warning. A siren cautioning a certain danger of the Sirens.
Forced optimism is left behind in me: only shame, only fear.
I glide into the room. Tub scents of lavender and rose from the night before. It soothes me. Thank you.
Short-lasted, I am dirty, insecure, and unsanitary. Approaching the marble basin and unable to shift my eyes upwards,
instead, my blue fingers trace the jewels that father had embedded in the sink for me. A supposed sign of love. So vain. Foolish even. 
Half-witted! Although more like a lovely gesture turned to blood by my own seething embarrassment.
My fingers snap out of place away from the jewel and whip my face, forcing me onwards. I surrender.
Slowly, my eyes move upward. Head pounding, nose bleeding, heart racing, forehead pulsing, skin reddening. No, no, no…
They move upward… it peers back in all its glory.
Mother always told me to tuck my charcoal black strands behind my ears when I was young. Proper for a lady. More distinguished.
But it, looking back at me, her hair everywhere: an animal. Ferocious. Used to cover up every gory flaw on her face.
Mother would line my eyes with black pencil as a child… provocation of thought, grace, cat-like beauty.
The creature in front of me- hers… not lined with pencil. Rather a dry, white, dusty residue of something foul?
I couldn’t make it out. Crusted all around her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to see how the world viewed her.
Ah yes, just as if mocking her very essence. Mine.
Pale must be an understatement. She almost ceased to exist, seemingly hovering over a hole of her greatest downfalls.
Something seemed off however… she looked complacent? Unrelenting? Simple and most ruthlessly satisfied.
Looking closer into the tarnished reflection, I watched as she grinned mercilessly and unveiled a certain depraved pleasure as she became smaller and smaller,


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  • April 20, 2021 - 10:32pm (Now Viewing)

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1 Comment
  • aalawrites

    I love this. I personally constantly feel perplexed with who I am. I feel like I am always moulding myself to fit with what others want, so I really relate with this piece.

    about 1 year ago