Exploring the stories of women who live by a ride-or-die philosophy

[POETRY] Dividing Lines

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?

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