Trypophobia
Reaching through my 13.3” screen, one by one I snatch the lotus pods and throw them on the concrete floor, watching the missile-seeds scatter into the corner. Ice rage channels my flesh and punctures my stomach like morning bombs before coffee. As I scratch my elbows and head, I stomp the seeds, watching them turn to powder under my worn, brown Timberland. Oxford and Microsoft Word ignore trypophobia, since they don’t feel the same angst about unnatural pods holding babies for lotus eaters sleeping through Troy. Odysseus’ men fell in, soon enough, with Lotos Eaters until he drove them wailing to the ships. My irrational fear of clusters of holes, pods is a fear of the apathy that keeps me from reading, writing, fighting. If I focus on lotus without dread, then I will fall listlessly while missiles fly overhead.
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