What is this “self” of mine?

Rachel Haywire

Oct 11, 2024

Not too long after my Poetry Salon during the beginning of my digital detox, I felt compelled to write this poem—which now seems like a subconscious attempt to make sense of my fractured ego. If you find self-analysis to be annoying, turn back now and stare at pictures of large groups of women in bikinis. They’re far less common than these narcissistic exercises in this decadent era. Aren’t they?

I am a fallen aristocrat

Downtrodden sophisticate

Petite counter-elite delusional genius

Schizophrenic prototype

Post-multi-hyphenate

Metapolitical archivist in hiding

Like all the other girls in my army

Waiting for the powerful to catch up

Knowing they never will I feel sexy

So far ahead I’ve been left behind

The last punk standing just like your sister

.

I am a vanguardist freak

Vertical industry darling

Beautiful tragedy slash cautionary tale

Logging off into the wild

Renegade times a million

In a class that doesn’t exist

Fashionable secret organizer

Cancelled alternative model

National deconstructionist

Your best nightmare awakened

The final boss of fringe culture at sundown

.

I am talking to about myself

To weed out the subhuman haters

Ex-influencer on the moon stop the press

The night of long commentary has ended

Ambassador high on parties

Trad glam advisor at the function

Realignment wartime barbie doll

Autofiction exterminator

Self-awareness on a cross

Done with occultism forever

Screaming at the cloud this is my confession

.

I am allowing this to happen

The most complicated of victims

Learning things the hard way as a tribute

The crisis of postmodernity

Is revealing a forbidden truth

Another turning of the age

My first and last time at the bunker

So until you pen your next manifesto

In this absurdist gothic margin

I’ll dance to the chaos alone

Waiting for the call of the operator

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