By Jayne Dough
In our Ride or Die philosophy, you and I were one.
When I drew a line between us and them
I did not draw one between you and me.
So I followed when you led down an infinity of rabbit holes,
Watching your back instead of standing at your side.
Your enemies were my enemies
And your friends my friends
And I was yours and only yours.
But you could not give yourself to me because you did not own yourself.
And if you were mine you, you were also his & his & his & his & his
And you were friends with rapists
While your only enemies were hungry raccoons.
The one time I didn’t follow you, you left me alone under streetlamps to be led drugged and docile into locked rooms guarded by vicious dogs and men. I looked for you in light of day only to hear the cruel prophecy of a street corner oracle that you were gone where I would never find you.
I did find you, hiding in the stolen territory of tree houses taken from displaced raccoons, but the sibyl was right. My eyes were opened. What was to connect us now I knew we were not one?