Behind myself.
I wish I could see the back of me. Sometimes I imagine walking into myself, purposefully tripping myself over, just to see the back of my bones.
I want to see my scalp. I want to know for sure what colour it is, and search hungrily for freckles and divets. What I would give to travel inside my own capillaries, to feel the heat inside my own mortification. I want to be inside my own guts, to feel myself squeezed as I receive shocking news. I want to watch myself digest difficulty, see how well I absorb watery reassurances and the exact point I transform ephemeral panic into something solid, into a warning to myself to be wary.
I want to know all the damage I’ve done. I want to wander around the corridors of myself impassively, with an inventory on a clipboard and a censorious expression. I want to tut, loudly, and point my parker pen at piles of cholesterol clogging up the stairwells of my heart.
I wouldn’t miss a thing. I’d be fastidious in my critique. I’d take my time filling out lengthy forms headed ‘Dirty Premises’ in red capital letters. I’d shake my head apologetically, I’d insist I had to go by the book, and refer myself back to my initial lease agreement “Don’t you remember? We went over this when you turned 30?” I’d say to myself in exasperation, gesturing to the sub-section of the contract where I’d foolishly agreed to uphold my foundations and exterior fabric. Not to attend parties past curfew. To be temperate, and keep myself in good repair.
I’d tend to myself, too. When I could see I was tired and that my shoulders ached I’d offer myself a wordless massage, getting right into the knots and resistances I armour myself with each day. I’d massage my wingless shoulder blades, tenderly work the mortal, culpable skin casing the whole with my own hands, smooth the tired nicks and dimples of my careworn tapestry, tableaux of a life well-lived. I’d kiss the top of my head, revel in the olfactory recognition of my own scent, ewe to sacrificial lamb. I’d draw myself a tiny map in blood and tears that only I could see, a route back to the only home I’ve ever known.
Great read