I made it through. On my own.

I found a way out.

MACHINE GIRL BY REBECCA EGAN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 96

Sometimes

I like to pretend.

Imagine my body as a machine. That way

the touch

of hands unwanted

can be washed away. Free

of fingerprints, only at risk

of rust. And what is rust if not

a sign of survival. And isn’t risk

only held in a heartbeat.

I want a signal

that screams I made it through. On my

own. I found a way out. But here I am

undeniably human. I pretend.

Like a child with building

blocks

that I can make something solid

from this. Less howl at

the back of my throat, more birdsong.

More plumage.

But can a machine girl sing?

I think I’d lose my voice for this.

REBECCA EGAN

What I love about poetry is the unique lyricism a poet brings to their work. I love being able to hear someone’s voice shine through their poems. I write mostly as a way to process my own trauma, and find catharsis in the way poetry can speak to things when I’d otherwise keep silent. I am a psychology student in Melbourne, Australia. My favourite part about where I live is that I can cross the road to the beach and go swimming. I have two cats, and their mischief keeps a smile on my face. I work in mental health research and I am particularly passionate about working alongside trauma survivors to create healing. My work is published in Peeking Cat Poetry, Persephone’s Daughters, 3Elements, and Amphora Magazine. My Instagram is @littlehonourings and my Twitter is @rebeccaegan__