home reimagined

When did we become so unfamiliar? Were we collectively wronged, or did I just let go? Like my gut with the dip in the road. Thread pulling organs down, before the body has a chance to react. // Whiplash from this new new music in an old place. 70,000 years old. Sing us a song! No more than a mumble in the passenger seat. Sun’s heat magnified by the windscreen burns my face and I imagine myself shrinking into the grooves where car meets asphalt. Music whips past my ears and into your head, distorted by cloudless skies winking in the water. // If we were tracks on mum’s car CD, there’s a scratch between us. If we were stars, the night sky has been stolen from us. If we were asleep, being awake has become too exciting. // I can’t stop being offended, I don’t even know who I am. It changes every day, what I can take. Though I will never stand for hardshell tacos. // Don’t you dare touch me right now. Autumn leaves keep falling into my BBQ pikelets. I pick them out with dirtied fingernails. You ask me to ask the rain to stop. Was that racist? I think I’m offended. This isn’t my country. // How do I say, my skin is so unknown to me? I love the sound of your faucet, but my faucet sends me off the wall. The soothe of domestic sounds… as long as the domestic isn’t mine. Because mine cradles crusted toothpaste and minestrone-stained containers. Don’t you dare try to soothe me, there’s microplastics in my brain! // I can’t be domesticated, I am untameable.