Sick Sad

i put it up on the shelf.

left it there to gather dust.

to be forgotten.

(i want to forget)

but it’s set too close to things i use.

so i touch it without meaning to,

and look it at without wanting to,

and the dust that begins to settle flies into the atmosphere,

up my nose, to irritate my sinuses.

(but i want to forget)

i find myself sneezing.

then wheezing.

throat sore, draining pus.

i am sick sick sick

from the dust that won’t sit

and from the awful sight of you,

walking along the street,

as though everything is NORMAL,

in the city you stole,

on the streets i cannot walk,

because you spit in my mouth,

and still wipe your damn snot

along every rail and flat surface,

out of petulance.

Toxins dispersed it into the air,

germs everywhere.

I can’t forget to take these pills,

and drink this tea,

and say these prayers,

to inoculate my body and soul,

against the disease you injected into me.

Rape is a chronic illness.

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