Poem in which I dye my hair ashen blonde- Henna Sjöblom

Poem in which

If we don’t speak again, I want you to know
I survived,
overrun, barren and sliced to the bone,
with a sudden urge to laugh

out loud,

accused of fetishizing, pretentiously advertising
oppressed minority groups and late night liquidizing 
talking too loud, being way too obvious
(she’s a meat hook,
a wretched Mary Sue, not one original thought in her mind)
What kind of disaster am I unless someone
takes notice? Here I am canned in an airtight tube,

your average misanthropist, complete with profanity filter and habituation warnings,

averting offensive comments and online shitstorms

judgement burns like hydrogen peroxide

What’s your passion darling, what’s your deepest and most unpronounceable 

truth? Let it all show,
make it the thrill of a lifetime,
parodize yourself to the point of exhaustion!
Don’t worry if you missed a streak
– just cut it off and glue it to your forehead

as protection.

Hey hypochlorite girl, you brilliant survivor. You are going to a brand new place,
but to transform,

you have to leave some things 

behind.

 


Henna Sjöblom,  the goth girl next-door. Aspiring author. Monstrophile. Horror enthusiast. She writes to cope with mental illness and everyday experiences. Find her at Murder Tramp Birthday

Author: Sudden Denouement

A Global Literary Collective

58 thoughts on “Poem in which I dye my hair ashen blonde- Henna Sjöblom”

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