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Elin Nov 2020
Trauma lives on in our bodies    
In sometimes unexpected places    
It doesn’t just reside    
In the malfunctioning lump    
Of electrified meat    
Encased in my skull    

Each part of my body    
Seems independently determined    
To avoid    
To protect me from    
Vulnerable or defenceless moments    

When the speaker at a training event    
Asks the participants in the room    
To close their eyes    
Partake in a thought experiment    
The trauma resides in my eyelids    
Which I cannot will to shut

I stare down at the floor        
Eyes open in unwilling resistance        
The simple act of closing them        
In a room full of strangers    
Is more than my body can bear    

When going on long car rides    
The trauma resides in my jaw    
Compulsively chewing gum    
To stop myself falling asleep    
In the passenger seat    

Maybe I can retain    
Some small semblance of control    
Over my body    
Over what happens to it    
As long as I remain awake    
As long as I remain alert    

The trauma resides    
In that small space near my nape    
Where your fingers curled    
That one time    
Sinking into my flesh    
Leaving marks for days    

On the rare occasions    
I let anyone close enough    
To touch me there    
It feels as though    
My entire spine erupts    
Shooting out jagged barbs of panic    

Isn’t it funny how we can train our brain    
To forget things    
To bury things where they cannot be retrieved    
But they will still linger on    
In another form    
Imprinted into our very bones and muscles    

Sometimes I find myself thinking    
How nice it will be    
To finally be free of this body    
Which stopped feeling like my own    
Long ago    

Do what you like with my body    
When I am dead    
I tell people    
As though    
They hadn’t already while I was alive
Elin Sep 2020
I am not a blank canvas
For you to paint your ideal upon
I am not a hollow soul
For you to live vicariously through
I regret to inform you
I have my own ******* agenda
Elin Sep 2020
You discarded your faith
And picked up the bottle
Replacing one spirit for another
Elin Sep 2020
What drew you to this job?

Truthfully, survival

I lie and say
I’ve always been passionate about textiles

Like the pretentious clothing this company creates
My answer is carefully tailored to appeal to my market audience

Yesterday I was passionate about data entry
Tomorrow I’ll be passionate about customer retention and management

I’ve learnt to lick the boot that pins me down in place

What does your dream job look like?

I don’t bother telling them that I no longer dream of labour

I recite the appropriate buzzwords
Sense of progression
Work-life balance
Meaningful connections
Bile rises in my throat

What do you hope to achieve in life?

My father wasted away his best years in a job that landed him in hospital
A heart attack and redundancy payout all the thanks he got

All so he could eventually retire and do what he actually loved; woodworking

He’d never been able to make a career of it
He couldn’t find a ‘market’ for it

Maybe it was because he never learnt to market himself, to sell himself

Not in that sense
Instead he sold himself

He sold his body to a timber mill

Maybe he thought it would be temporary
But then he had to give up his woodworking
Because working the wood at the mill left him exhausted

He had to sell his soul for decades until the system finally let him be

I want something different than what the system offers
But there is no alternative to the system

It offers me 50 flavours of consumption
32 different shades of participation
But no option not to consume
Not to participate

I no longer have lofty ideals
When I was young I wanted to be a famous writer
I wanted to travel and see the world

Now I just want to exist

But even my very existence comes at a cost
To merely exist I am still expected to participate
To consume and be consumed
Sell myself to whoever will pay
for what little I have to offer

Thank you for your time
Elin Sep 2020
I’ve been numb for days now

I started picking at old memories just to feel something

Kicking mental rocks over

To see if remnants of you would crawl out

I’ve been dropping poison in my tea

Just to help me stay asleep at night

But no elixir is a fixer

And each morning I roll over into your absence

Time heals all wounds they tell me

But really time wounds all lovers

— The End —