This monologue was written for school and it's about a short story called 'The Scream' by Diana Wiesler and it's written from the perspective of the main character, Eliza. There are two parts to this poem, the original longer written part and the oral shorter part.
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I am a black hole holding
back the violent, violent,
violent tornado of my
emotions…
my voice.
I am like a doll, a broken
and mangled doll.
Hollow.The eyes, my
eyes stare out with life
but still not quite
human…inhuman.
Lizard skin, I hear my
classmates chant.
I stare at myself,
dry white scaly skin.
I stare at myself, I see fear,
I see a scared little girl.
The mirrors are the
paparazzi flashing,
flashing, flashing in the
drama room,
I try to hide myself
from their gaze.
I hear the door slam
as the teacher strolls in,
she is like ice,
cold and powerful, regal
and strong.
She introduces herself.
Mrs.Draginda.
We are her students.
Mrs.Draginda.
We are her actors,
we are the actors.
Her blue eyes are frozen
shards of glass
cutting through our masks,
capturing our eyes
like a nightmare does.
Not being able to
turn away.
Mesmerized. Paralyzed.
We becomes queens
and kings,
grasping power and grace as
best as we can.
We walk with invisible
crowns, we are royalty.
Especially you.
We collapse. I collapse
once again, letting all life in
me seep away,
a Raggedy Ann falling.
I remember all the
times I’ve fallen behind
a locked door,
you have too many walls up,
to release the tears.
Sadness departs
but it comes back to
haunt me.
Mrs. Draginda commands
us to scream, we stand like
soldiers, unsure what
to follow.
Her eyes are narrowed
and my stomach tumbles
in anxiety.
How can I do this?
I am a black hole holding
back the tornado of my
emotions…my voice.
You can do this.
I am like a doll, a broken
and mangled doll.
Hollow. The eyes, my
eyes stare out with life
but still not quite
human…inhuman.
You do have life,
you are human.
She points and I become
vacuous as I close my eyes
and let out the whirl of
feelings.
I am surrendering
my voice into one
long loud scream,
the scream.
I open my eyes,
gasping to catch my breath,
gasping to catch me
from flying away,
into my dream,
my scream,
into the sky.
Mrs. Draginda looks,
the icicle color of her
eyes morph into, melts
into soft sky blue,
warm.
I knew you could do it.
I can, I have a voice.
I deserve to be heard.
I am not a doll.
I am Eliza.
You are, you are.
Drama class is over.
~
