two hundred & sixty two: trapped

sometimes i feel trapped in my brain.

it’s where i’ve always lived, because i hate my body and i like to pretend i don’t have one.

my brain is rarely still. it is usually analyzing and shaming and interpreting. listing things and reminding and tallying. if it made a noise it would be incessant, like a creaky rusty box fan or the drone of an airplane that never quite approaches or leaves.

backposted, written June 17/19

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