Westchester
I go all the way to Westchester to have a man
tie me up with rope and leather and blindfold me.
This isn’t about you, not the sting my skin savors
when the man’s wide palm slaps my thigh,
legs pulled apart to the corners of the bed. But
you’d love to take credit for this, I’m sure.
To be the reason I travel forty minutes by train
into a neighborhood I hardly know, the reason
I so willingly split my lips into a chasm so that the ball gag
can bruise my tongue with its rubber taste, the reason I
seem to only feel at ease when I can’t see my own
body waiting for me in reflections, in his eyes,
in any number of holding ponds where an image can dwell.
I let this man do whatever he wants to me for three hours
at a time because it’s easier if I don’t get a say. But you’d like to think
it’s your doing, I’ve no doubt. That the push of your body
into mine, slurs coiling like vipers in your mouth as you
made me into disciple with a thrust, taught me to be the perfect martyr:
limbs splayed in apoplectic righteousness for an audience of one.
Yes, if I am only a holy object in the blinded dark,
it is because you showed me at such a young age
why one should be careful when choosing their gods.
Beeper Peddle is a writer and healer living on the East Coast. She lives with her partner and their beloved soul puppy. Beeper writes about sorrows, lies, and deep loves. When you read her work, you will dip down into her heart and end up in all manner of body parts. Should you find yourself reflected in these words, it is merely coincidence; however, it does not surprise her you share the same heart. Find her at bethpeddle.com and @beeperpeddle on Twitter and Instagram
Daniel Brennan (he/him) is a queer writer and coffee devotee from New York. Sometimes he is in love, but just as often he is not. His poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, and has appeared in numerous publications, including The Penn Review, Sky Island Journal, and ONE ART. He can be found on Twitter and Instagram: @dannyjbrennan
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