I put on a suit and deem myself Trillary Clinton. A tag on my cup of tea says “Empty yourself and let the universe fill you.” I keep thinking of Olivia Benson, I keep thinking about the jury of my peers. I pose half-naked for a stranger's project on sexual violence. My body a blur as I’m asked to move through emotion. It’s the entire Commonwealth versus a man in a suit. The detective presses his hand to his face as he asks me how much I had to drink on the night in question. The same detective tells me my rapist and his lawyer are arrogant, like they’ve won already. I still try to make time to laugh, but every sound from my lips comes out as a plea. I create a playlist called “rage suite” and hope it helps me to channel my tears into fire. In the end, the Commonwealth says I am incapable of standing trial. In the end, my tongue is less flame and more a wet muscle. The men have won the prize of my body, changed thing. Changeling. The hiss of my name laying gold crowns on their teeth, oh victory.
Dani Janae is a poet and journalist from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her work has been published by Longleaf Review, Pittsburgh Poetry Journal, Palette Poetry, Wax Nine Journal, Levee Magazine, and Slush Pile Magazine. Her manuscript, Express Desire, was a finalist for the 2023 CAAPP Book Prize.
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