07: The Body - July 2021

Pink Ocean

I look in the mirror and all I see is an impostor,   
 Dangling a pink rope around my neck,   
 Unwilling to let me breathe.  
 To be me. 
  
 Air, air, let me breathe please, 
 Because you are all suffocating me. 
 I am suffocating me. 
 I want it gone, gone, gone. 
 I am stranded with no life jacket or boat. 
 No one can hear me plea to wish away this agony. 
  
 I feel shunned in the eyes of society, yet naked in my own. 
 What is home? What is comfort? What am I? 
  
 I set my uniform out as per usual, a skirt, a tie, a shirt, a cardigan. 
 But why must it be a cardigan? Why not a jumper?   
 And why a skirt?
 Why not trousers? 
  
 It is so hard to try to be me when I am drowning in a vast ocean of pink,   
 With shackles of a similar shade.  
 I exist,  I exist, why can they not see?   
 Why can I not be me? 
  
 Or is that even me?   
 Maybe it is but an illusion of utter happiness I have created so vividly in my mind,   
 To the point where it might possibly be an unreachable dream.  
 A dream I can almost taste,   
 The flavour of tangible freedom brushing against my lips,   
 Against my fingertips. 
  
 But alas, it is still too far.  
 Too early to have the knowledge of what my own body feels like,   
 A prison. 
 The prison is a safe space though,   
 At least, to the viewers around it. 
  
 But to me, it is as if I am in the inescapable pink ocean.  
 I began rebelling little by little,   
 It is not as if these insignificant things would make me satisfied anyway. 
  
 So I really am unordinary?
 I look in the mirror,   
 But I do not see me.  
 I again see the shadow strangling me with a pink rope.  
 This time I attempt to resist it though.  
 I inevitably fail and fall down even deeper into the vast pink ocean, 
 Nothing to help me float or alert anyone for help.  
 I am truly alone. 
  
 I black out and later see shards of glass stuck to my knuckles like glue.  
 I hear rushing footsteps from outside the door.  
 They get louder, louder and louder.  
 They shake the earth.  
 I tremble and lock the bathroom door.  
 My knees, like butter,   
 Force to fall to the floor like lead. 
  
 The pink ocean is becoming bigger and bigger.  
 My chest feels heavier and heavier.  
 If I bleed there, they will go away,right? 
  
 My voice felt unusual,   
 Like a car screech.  
 I hated hearing it,   
 But I could do nothing about it.  
 I would often wonder, 
 How could a name that has been associated with my since birth, feel so foreign and vulgar now.  
 An insult. 
  
 A sense of disgust arose in me every time my “name” was mentioned.  
 You deserve this. 
 
-Theochari

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