The Matrix

It’s all wrong
From this box I dwell in alone
to the manicured trees outside
this square in the wall filled with glass
it’s all wrong
from this metal vessel in my hand
filled with water I purchased
with a plastic rectangle,
to the existence of elevators
it’s all wrong

From the orchids blooming indoors
in winter
to this war paint on my face
to this garment restricting my torso
spun from ancient carcasses
it’s all wrong
from conversations over wires
with humans
in distant time zones
I will never meet
to this bread I eat
cultivated afar by strangers
processed in a pristine factory
by exhausted hands
it’s all wrong

From the endless stories
told in smarmy shouts on flat screens
to the flat screens themselves
it’s all wrong
from the arrogant machines
that count the movement of the sun
to the impossible demands
that govern time
to the very existence of minutes
it’s all wrong.

This endless panic
and crippling loneliness
are the only things that are right.
They are the sane responses
when everything is wrong
though they claim
our very lives.

Sapiens took a wrong turn
eons ago
but I am trapped here
in a fragile time capsule
silently screaming
into the inky void.
I’ve woken in a pod of liquid
disconnected from the lie
surrounded by sleeping forms
as far as my eye can reach.
I cannot regurgitate
the red pill.

This is not progress
It’s all wrong
This time
there is no happy ending.
Yet I would gladly give my life
to save this shimmering planet
from me.

© S. Rinderle, February 2020

2 thoughts on “The Matrix

  1. Susana, Once again you touch my heart,and I hear your loneliness and agony. I wish for you occasional small … even enormous …moments of joy,which I know are possibleeven after the most devastating experiencessuch as the death of my daughter24 years ago. Joy is simply a matter of choice. If you are ever back in Albuquerque,I would love to hear you read at Fixed and Free …we meet the fourth Thursday of most monthsand would welcome you warmly. The very best to you and yours, Billy Brown

  2. Hi Billy! Thank you for reading, and for your kind comment. This poem doesn’t express the totality of my experience, and never fear, joy does peek its way through the cracks. I don’t entirely agree that joy is a choice, however. Those of us with a history of trauma, particularly early childhood trauma and neglect, have far more barriers to choosing our emotional state because “the body keeps the score” and our brain chemistry isn’t like everyone else’s. I’m doing quite awesomely given what I’m working with! 🙂 I visit my beloved ABQ 1-2 times per year, and I will keep your generous invitation in mind. Warm ocean breezes to you my friend!

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