Inhabiting my Skin by Karunya Srinivasan

Inhabiting my Skin Karunya Srinivasan

My body does not feel like home today.

I fumble at the door with the wrong keys, so I have to jump over the gate and break down the back door.

Like a thief in my own house

I trip. The inside has been redecorated, the furniture rearranged, so every time I walk into a room

Even the cutlery has been moved to the wrong cupboards so everytime I open one when I need something I am lost.

I've forgotten which switches turn on

which lights, so I put them all on only to find the electricity is gone.

If I have to live here again I have to relearn my anatomy like architecture; reconstruct my bones with a building plan; rewire my veins so I do not have to live in darkness; rediscover. what it feels like to inhabit my skin.