psychogeography | a poem

there are places that I don’t go back to

but they come home to me


magnets within me

revisit cars that have replaced churches

when I have no time to be awake


faces cannot be forgotten

faces stay

the same as the act

the same intact memory

haunting routes and whereabouts

nobody will find me here

I came here to die


not to be found


but when they do

I will no longer exist


lost myself on a car seat

lost myself smashed across the rocks

lost myself with your foot on the pedal

lost myself with your nose in my hair

fell asleep with my own fingers on me in a trunk

dreaming of my own disappearance




I revisit my hall of mirrors

where I hadn’t be allowed to be a child


splinters in my skin

womanhood strikes a chord

looks at me first

looks at me through a shard

I rebel against its form

blunt and accommodating

sharp enough to attract

harmless so that it may seek an indulgent frame


there is more than one reason

why it hurts to go back


I may be buried there


I may have done it myself

with my own mud-tainted hands


got rid of myself in a plastic bag

too scared to see what is inside

what I look(ed) like

ghosts share my space

my altar of discarded selves

through the windshield


I sent them to you

to stop chasing my father


don’t expect me to return

to please you


My own drawing © Laura Gentile 2021 | Instagram: @melpomenepaintings

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