Posted on 3 Comments

Objective Correlative

When my father called local morgues looking for his daughter
I was already part of another life. Blood is not sentient. It moves
as any dumb body of water, a system away. As a cadaver, drained,

I possess a final brilliance. I begged every man to see how smart
I could be. Here I remain, a cute button nose, eyes sunk beneath
lids, puffed with chemical freeze. My father identifies me. Over,

I won’t need to wonder what happens next to me. Someone calls
the rape audacious. No, he talks about the act as an audacity. I let
that man press his hands to my throat, then another, until it feels

like a handkerchief dropping softly from a hook. I don't die then.
Or then. I went on. Stubborn as a mule. The streets bleach with sun
and lead to the last blue corner house. He holds the back of my neck.

I do not dare move. I do not dare move. I do not dare move. I do
not dare move. I do not dare move. I do not dare move. I do not 
dare move. I do not dare move. I do not dare move. I do not dare.

3 thoughts on “Objective Correlative

  1. ❤️

  2. Holy shit
    Tears

  3. holy this poem <3

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *