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My Place

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I remember that alley. The sidewalk was where my personhood was changed, my womanhood made. I was carved into that side street, slammed into the trash below me. I was cut by the corner of West 4th street and Jones. There was a lampost, a telephone pole, and a restaurant serving tapas. People passed, some stared, but it was your ultimate assertion that I was yours that drove away any savior I could have had. In your assertion, you reminded me that my place was amongst dirt, your hands gripping onto my thighs like a vice and your hot breath stinging my cheek. My place was under your heavy chest; my place was what you were entitled to before you even existed. That alley was just the location that you decided my place was no longer mine, it was yours. 




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