Two Poems
spiritually i am at the cvs built on the land that was once water mania
meaning i am trying to think of more important things
than an overactive wave pool
where a woman once drowned
and you know i almost drowned
in the lazy river years and years ago
on a summer camp field trip
i don’t know how it happened but i was pulled under
and people kept swimming
as if they couldn’t notice a nine-year old girl below them
kicking and unable to breathe.
i learned a lot about the world that day
how people will not see you there
or stop to help even if they do
and that you can be moments from death
but still pry yourself up
in spite of your resignation
no wonder they tore that shit down
imagine another life turned into a lawsuit
over some plastic tubes
& the scent of chlorine
TW: sexual assault, rape
Today I learned the ancient Egyptians left their beautiful women corpses to rot for 3 days before embalming
to prevent posthumous sexual assault,
but what is a body without life. Plenty have fucked me
in similar states, eyes dead
moans calculated;
I don't know if I would mind in their place
but perhaps that’s a symptom of arrested
development, my own lack of agency
coming to fruition. Maybe it’s more that
I’ve spent enough of my waking time
perfecting my model of the ideal woman
in pleasure, studying Cosmopolitan magazine
beneath my sheets
learning words like clitoris, orgasm
and libido, of which I delighted in learning
I had or could have
disconnected for years
from my first experiences;
rubbing my legs together
to racy images, videos, celebrities gone wild:
Vanessa Hudgens, God forgive me;
Daniel Radcliffe in Equus, even
Miley Cyrus, who never interested me all that much in
Hannah Montana, won my dirty intrigue
with scandals and salvia.
Unsure of all feelings except for power
which I cultivated dangerously,
me, a real ingenue.
Perhaps in my adolescence
some guardian would take watch
over me; protect me from violation.
But I’ve lost my jailbait appeal,
settled into accessibility
catnip for predatorial men
but a girl has to tell herself a story
and believe she has a shot
running errands for herself
on a schedule she creates
with one hand on the mace.
If they desecrate my corpse,
the joke is on them. They have nothing special,
nothing that hordes of worthless scum don’t
already have in droves.
No one can have me.
Selena Cotte is a poet, journalist and shapeshifter living in Chicago by way of Orlando. Her poems are published or forthcoming in journals such as Peach Mag, HAD, Sad Girl Review, 3 Moon Magazine and others. She can be found online @selenacotte, wherever you think that may work.
Artwork by Waleed Shah
Waleed Shah is a photographer from the UAE, born and raised. His clients have included Louvre Abu Dhabi, Nestle, Abu Dhabi Media, Fujifilm, and MAC, among others. Follow him on Instagram @waleedshah.